


My Fathers' Son

by Dee_Laundry



Series: My Fathers' Son [1]
Category: House M.D.
Genre: Domestic, Kid Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-08-27
Updated: 2006-08-26
Packaged: 2017-10-03 22:37:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 25,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dee_Laundry/pseuds/Dee_Laundry
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From his earliest memory, Jack Wilson knew:  you don't talk about your family.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The highest of praise and thanks to my ever-stellar beta [](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/profile)[**daisylily**](http://daisylily.livejournal.com/) and co-beta [](http://hellspoette.livejournal.com/profile)[**hellspoette**](http://hellspoette.livejournal.com/). And kudos to [](http://gandolforf.livejournal.com/profile)[**gandolforf**](http://gandolforf.livejournal.com/) and [](http://denbighm.livejournal.com/profile)[**denbighm**](http://denbighm.livejournal.com/) for the whiteboard discussion.

You don't talk about your family.

That was the first and greatest commandment, etched into Jack Wilson's soul from his earliest memory.

The visual on that memory was mostly white: walls, floor, ceiling, hospital gown. In fact, everything – in the haze that surrounded such an old memory – was white except Pop's sleeping face, in stark relief. He'd felt a sense of wonder at the strange colors of the spots covering Pop's face. Blue, purple, green, red, mixed together.

He'd thought of them in the moment as spots, although he soon learned the proper word was _bruises_.

Dad's face wasn't in the memory at all, but his warm hand was, pressing down on Jack's shoulder. It almost hurt, the weight, but at the same time it anchored Jack, kept him from floating away. He was _grateful_, another word he hadn't known at the time but had learned in the days that followed.

"You see, Jack," Dad said, his voice heavy, "this is why we don't talk about our family."

"House, you'll scare him," came a woman's voice. "He's only three." It must have been Aunt Lisa; Dad wouldn't have let anyone else hear. Jack was beyond caring at the time.

He reached out for Pop's hand, almost toppling over the chair he was standing on in the process. Dad caught him, safe and strong, and helped him onto the bed next to Pop.

"He needs to see. He needs to know, so this won't happen to him. It's a cauliflower tail."

Jack didn't look up from the bed. He had buried his face in Pop's chest, which was warm, and the regular up and down of Pop's breathing was soothing. But Jack puzzled over where the tail he was supposed to see was, and why it was made of cauliflower. It would be another decade before he'd find the tail and learn the right words.

***

He was good; he was careful; he didn't talk about his family after that. He was also, unfortunately, a rather literal child, and when his kindergarten teacher told him to draw his family, he didn't realize that was against the rule as well.

"Oh my," Mrs. Walker said, as she looked at his picture. "Perhaps you'd better explain this to me." She was a _harridan_, he realized much later. At the time, he merely felt a longing for Miss West, the teacher in the other kindergarten classroom. She was so pretty and sweet, played castle games with the kids, and smelled like flowers.

"I don't know," Jack replied.

"Come now, you know your own family. This small person in the middle is you, right?"

"Yes." Jack smiled and pointed to the boy on the paper. "That's my favorite shirt."

"It has a...tongue." _Disdain_, another word learned later.

"It means the Rolling Stones. It's old. Dad got it for me."

Mrs. Walker turned away from the picture and stared at Jack through her pointy reading glasses.

"I thought you called your father 'Pop.'"

"Yeah, this is Pop." Jack pointed to the figure on the left.

"I see you enjoy drawing eyebrows."

Mrs. Walker was distracted for a moment by Teddy and Leo at the other table, and Jack wished he could snatch the picture away and run. He was breaking Dad's rule for sure now, and his stomach felt terrible.

All too soon, Mrs. Walker turned back to him. "And why does your 'Pop' have three legs?"

"This one's not a leg; it's a cane."

"Jack Wilson, we do not fib in this classroom. I've seen your father, and he doesn't use a cane."

"Pop used it before." There was no way for Jack to explain how he preferred to picture Pop with the cane, even though Pop hadn't needed to use it for a long time. It was comforting to think of Pop with the cane because then he matched –

"And who is this three-legged person? Is your mother taller than your father?"

("Bitch," adult Jack always thought when this memory would play. "Proper perspective in a drawing is a bit much to ask of a five-year-old.")

Jack's head was low, and his stomach was churning. The rule was about to shatter in a million billion pieces.

"That's Dad," he said softly.

Mrs. Walker's face turned even less friendly. "You have a 'Pop' and a 'Dad'?"

"Yes," he whispered. He couldn't even look at the picture now.

"Well, many children do nowadays, with all this divorce and step-parenting. But you were only supposed to draw the people who live with you in your primary residence."

He wanted to rip the picture up. He wanted to lie and say he didn't hear the directions. He wanted to throw himself on the carpet and cry. He did none of those, just sat with his head hanging and stared at his lap.

"And you didn't draw your mother at all."

"She doesn't live with us. She lives far away." He felt OK talking about his mother, because she wasn't in their family. He had never met his mother, although he'd been told some things about her. She sent him a card every birthday with two dollars but no letter.

"Then one of your fathers must live far away as well. Draw a new picture, with just the people who live in your house, so we can put it up on the Family Board. Leave off the tongue shirt as well, please." Mrs. Walker moved on to the next child's picture.

This final _indignity_ snapped Jack back to life. It was his favorite shirt. It had been a special gift, not for birthday or anything. It was old, and Dad trusted him to take care of it, so he felt important just wearing it. It was not to be erased.

Jack had jumped from his chair before he knew it. "I will not!"

Mrs. Walker stared at him, _astonished_. Most of the kids in the classroom stared at him, too. He was usually a quiet child and obedient: a rule follower.

"This is my family who lives in my house, and you can't make me change it! I hate the Family Board!" He pressed his picture to his chest and ran _pell-mell_ for his backpack. He was convinced that if he could just get the picture safely in the pack, Mrs. Walker couldn't take it from him. He was closing the zipper with a sigh of relief when Mrs. Walker grabbed his arm.

She whipped him around and pushed him toward the door. "Jack Wilson, you are going to the principal's office now. We will be calling your father."

Jack felt strangely calm as Mrs. Walker dragged him down the hall. Pop would take care of it. Pop would understand.

He sat on a bench outside the principal's office for over half an hour. He swung his feet in 4/4 time. He counted the tiles in the ceiling. He read the notices on the bulletin board next to the teacher mailboxes, proud of himself for recognizing "elementary" and "attention" and "excellence."

Eventually the principal, Mr. Latham, came over, set Jack's backpack on the floor, and sat next to Jack on the bench. He looked straight into Jack's eyes, and Jack looked back. Mr. Latham had long hairs in his nose. That was interesting.

"I've discussed what happened today with your father, your Pop. He told me a bit about your home life but said he wants to keep it private. Do you understand the word 'private,' Jack?"

"Yes." Jack knew a lot about the word "private."

Mr. Latham patted Jack's leg and nodded. "We're going to send you home early today, Jack. You'll get a chance to take a break, talk this over with your family, and then we'll see you tomorrow. A fresh start."

"Is Mrs. Walker still mad?"

Mr. Latham made a little sound like a "hm" or a "hmph."

"I'll talk to Mrs. Walker after school today. She has a very… _conventional_ way of thinking about things, but I'll take care of it. Everything will be fine tomorrow."

Jack thought of a question. "Can I wear my tongue shirt to school?"

Mr. Latham smiled kindly. "It's best if you didn't, Jack. But I hope you enjoy wearing it at home. We'll see you tomorrow."

After Mr. Latham returned to his office, Jack began to swing his feet again. Because he was going home, he would miss lunch and Letter of the Day. Fine. Letter of the Day was boring, and there were better things for lunch at home.

Everything was quiet. He heard a quiet step-thump rhythm begin in the hall and then get louder. He was enjoying the pattern of the beat but didn't realize its meaning until suddenly Dad was in the doorway.

Jack was stunned. He might have gasped out loud but didn't know for sure. He had expected Marjorie, his nanny, to come get him, or maybe Pop, but not Dad. Dad never picked him up from anywhere. Did he know what Jack had done?

Dad hadn't seen him yet and went straight to the secretary's desk. "I'm here to pick up Jack Wilson."

"Are you his father?" Ms. Mukada asked, looking him up and down.

"Dr. Wilson couldn't come. He sent me instead." He glared at the secretary but she simply stared back _impassively_. "I'm on the approved pick-up list for Jack. Greg House."

"Let me see." Ms. Mukada looked into a folder that was on her desk. "Here you are. You need to sign the sign-out sheet."

She waved at the clipboard and handed Dad a pen shaped like an alligator. He stared at it for a second, then signed the sheet. "Do I go to Jack's classroom, or what?"

Ms. Mukada waved over toward Jack, who was trying to become invisible. "He's waiting right there."

"You could have told me that," Dad _irritably_ replied.

"OK, Jack, let's go." He gestured toward the door with his cane. "Don't forget your backpack."

Jack picked up his backpack and headed out the door. He didn't want to look at Dad at all.

"How come you came to get me? Where's Marjorie?" Dad had long legs and walked fast. Jack had to hurry to keep up.

"When you started kindergarten, Marjorie got another job during the day. She works there until you get out of school. She can't leave that job just because you get a little time off. So you're stuck with me for a while."

"Why didn't Pop come?"

Dad stopped and looked down at Jack. "Wilson has patient appointments today, and I don't happen to have any. So I snuck past the evil Aunt Lisa and came to play hooky with you. Would you rather hang out with Pop and the sick people at the hospital?"

"No," said Jack reluctantly. The hospital was not the best place to hang out. Dad's office was kind of cool, but the rest of it smelled funny. And Pop's office always seemed sad.

They started walking again toward Dad's car. An afternoon with Dad was almost always more fun than anything else, but Jack was feeling guilty.

"Did Pop tell you what happened in school?"

"Yup. The outline of it, at least."

"Are you mad?" Jack was afraid of the answer but had to ask anyway.

Dad stopped again. "Do I seem mad?"

Jack checked Dad out, searching his face for the answer. "No."

"You can safely assume that I'm not, then." Dad unlocked the car and opened Jack's door. Lately, he had stopped helping Jack with the seatbelt, and Jack enjoyed the challenge of getting it just right around the booster seat.

Jack waited until Dad was in the car and buckled in before he confessed, "I'm sorry I broke the rule."

"Hmm?" Dad was getting the car ready to go, and then off they went. "Which rule was that? No yelling in the classroom, or no defying _tyrannical_ authority figures? I have some trouble with that last one myself. Or do you mean Mrs. Walker's stupid unwritten rule that you must have a mother living in your house to make it onto the Family Board?"

"What's tyrannical? Like the dinosaur?"

"Tyrannical rex. Yes, exactly. It means loud and pushy, with the possibility of biting off some part of your body if you don't do exactly what it says. Roar!! I think I will call Cuddy a tyrannical rex tomorrow at work."

Dinosaurs were cool. They were big and could stomp anything they wanted to. Jack roared, and Dad roared again too. Then he turned on the stereo, and the car was filled with great music.

But when Dad pulled the car into the driveway and turned around to look at Jack, the guilty feeling returned. Jack had to tell him.

"I broke your rule, Dad. I talked about our family. I'm sorry."

"It's a tough rule, Jack, for a tough world. I'm sorry we even have to have it as rule." He reached back and patted Jack's hair and then broke into a smile.

"But as for today's incident, I blame it solely on the tyrannical rex you have teaching your class. Who let such a dinosaur into your school, anyway?" Jack smiled and shrugged. Dad roared again and then opened his door.

"C'mon, let's get inside. I think we still have some of that last batch of cookies that Wilson made. Bet I can eat more than you."

When Marjorie came by after her other job, Dad made her wash the dishes and make popcorn, and then he sent her home.

When Pop came home from work, Jack and Dad were _ensconced_ on the couch, watching cartoons.

"Is that all you've done all day, just watched TV?" Pop asked as he started picking up the mess of popcorn pieces, chip bags, plates, and wrappers they had spread over the coffee table.

"Yes," Dad replied, and Jack laughed at Dad's big fib. They had done a lot of great things that day and only just started watching TV. Pop was not going to be happy when he found the leftover volcano in the kitchen, but it had been very fun to make.

"Did you talk to Jack about what happened today at school?"

"We discussed it thoroughly, and everything will be just fine tomorrow. Right, Jack?" Jack smiled at Dad and roared quietly.

Pop bent down to look Jack straight in the eye. "Are you sure? Everything's OK?"

"Everything's OK, Pop."

"Good." Pop nodded and then kissed Jack on the top of his head. Straightening up, he added, "Now what about dinner?"

"We're not hungry; don't worry about us." Dad gave Jack a hug and tickled him under his arm, and Jack laughed again.

"Well, I'm hungry. You didn't start anything?"

Dad looked up at Pop. "I think there's some pizza left over from our lunch today. Check the kitchen."

When Pop's back was turned, Dad covered Jack's mouth to keep him from being too loud and made a very funny face. Jack laughed into Dad's hand. Then they both laughed together as Pop's voice came from the kitchen. "House! What happened in here?!?"

When Jack went back to school the next day, Mr. Latham nodded to him in the hall. The kids at his table acted a little strange toward him in the morning but seemed back to normal by the afternoon. The Family Board had been taken down.

By the day after that, everyone at school seemed to have forgotten Jack had ever yelled. Everyone except Mrs. Walker. She didn't like the dinosaur pictures that came in the mail once a week, but Jack thought they were funny.

***

Pop was Jack's official father. He signed all the papers, did all the stuff at school, took Jack to playgroups and music classes, held his hand when they crossed the street. They even had the same last name.

Pop and Dad had explained to Jack that Pop was his adoptive father and Dad was his biological father. They were his two parents. He had a biological mother, too, but she lived far away and had another life.

"You don't need three parents, do you?" Dad had asked. "That would be rather greedy of you."

"House!" Pop had _interjected_. "Jack, you could have three parents, that wouldn't be greedy. House, honestly. But you happen to have two, your Dad and me."

"That's OK. You're who I want," Jack had said. Pop had blinked a bunch, and Dad had rubbed Jack's head.

Dad loved Jack. When they were at home, Dad hugged him, kissed him, wrestled with him. Dad had a bad leg, but the reach in his other leg and arms more than made up for it when it came to wrestling. Dad talked to Jack about the most interesting things. He supervised homework and listened to stories of the latest disgusting thing Teddy had done. But he wouldn't come to school events, or Cub Scouts, or soccer. Dad was Jack's secret father.

***

When Jack was seven, a very sad thing happened. His Grandma House, Dad's mom, died.

Jack, Dad, and Pop went together on the plane to where Grandma and Grandpa House lived. Dad's leg was hurting, and he had to get up a lot to walk around. He got in a fight with a flight attendant named Stacy about the walking.

"Have you heard of DVT? Thrombosis? Clot? Possible pulmonary embolism? No? How about suing your airline and you personally for wrongful death – does that ring any bells?"

Pop covered Jack's ears, and they kept watching the Scooby Doo DVD.

When they got to Jack's grandparents' house, Dad stopped before ringing the doorbell. "We probably should stay in a hotel."

"I'm sure your father will get some comfort from you and Jack staying here," replied Pop.

"I'm sure he won't," Dad said, but he rang the bell anyway.

After a minute, Grandpa House answered the door. Jack had _anticipated_ that he'd look sad, but mostly he just looked tired. "Greg. James. Where's Jack?"

"Here I am, Grandpa House," Jack replied, coming out from behind Pop.

Grandpa House turned and started walking away. "Come on, then. I bought you some cookies. You like cookies, don't you?"

Jack looked at Dad and Pop before following Grandpa House. "Sure, I like cookies."

"It's OK, Dad," called Dad after them. "Wilson'll get our bags all by himself. It's no problem, Dad."

Grandpa House didn't seem to hear.

Grandma House's funeral was the next day. There were a lot of people in the church, and a lot of people cried, but Grandpa House didn't and Dad didn't. They both looked sad, but they didn't cry.

After the church service was over, they went to the cemetery. The hole for Grandma's casket was very interesting to Jack. Nicely rectangular, the hole was so dark against the grass. When Jack tilted his head a certain way, it looked like a door on a green house.

Pop kept his arm around Dad the whole time they were standing next to the hole, the _gravesite_. Dad held Jack's hand.

After a while, Jack reached up to hold Grandpa House's hand, too. Grandpa seemed surprised; he pulled his hand away when Jack touched it.

"Dad," Jack's Dad said, and his voice sounded like it did when Jack was in trouble.

Grandpa House put his hand down and held Jack's hand the rest of the time by the gravesite. When people started to leave, Grandpa House looked down at Jack. His eyes were wet, and the wrinkles on his face were extra wrinkly. He squeezed Jack's hand once and then let go. Nodding his head at Dad and Pop, he left to talk to his friends.

Dad, Pop, and Jack walked back to their long black car, the _limousine_. On the way there, Dad nudged Pop and said, "One good point to my mother's funeral: you were able to put your arm around me in public."

"Oh, House," Pop sighed.

"Just think, if they'd both died, you might've even been able to give me a kiss."

They rode back to Grandpa House's house in silence. They didn't have to wear seatbelts in the limousine, so Jack sat on Dad's lap, on his good leg, for the entire ride. A few times Dad put his head on top of Jack's and hugged him tighter. Pop looked out the window.

There were a lot of people at the house. There were a lot of men like Grandpa House, and a lot of women like Grandma House. The women took Dad away to the living room and made him sit, and then each of them talked to him for a little bit.

Jack wondered about this, as he stood next to Pop in the dining room. "Why is Dad listening to all those ladies? He doesn't like so many people."

Pop was rearranging the plates of food on the dining room table. "That's very _astute_, Jack."

"What's astute mean?"

"It means you're smart at seeing things." Pop stepped back from the table and looked it over. It must have seemed all right, because he quit moving the plates.

"Your Dad is talking with all the ladies because they were Grandma House's friends. They want to talk to him and help him feel better because he's Grandma House's son."

"I don't think he's feeling any better."

"Probably not. But your Dad loved Grandma House a lot. Being nice to her friends is a way to be nice to her."

The dining room was filling up with people who wanted to have some food. Pop nudged Jack out of the room and towards the back yard. "Let's go outside for a minute."

"But Grandma House is dead. She doesn't have feelings any more. How can she know Dad is being nice?"

Pop sat on a patio chair and looked Jack right in the eye. "An excellent question, Jack, but I'm not really up to discussing it all with you now. Can we talk about it later?"

"Sure. Can I go inside?"

"Go ahead. You might want to stay away from the ladies, or they'll want to talk to you, too." Pop leaned in and whispered, "They look like the kind who might pinch cheeks."

"Thanks." He gave Pop a big hug. Pop hugged back and then turned to look over the yard.

The old ladies were still in the living room with Dad. The not-so-old adults were in the dining room and kitchen. The old men were in the den with Grandpa House. They were drinking that drink Dad liked. Scotch. Grandpa House had had some at breakfast time, when he thought no one was looking.

Jack sat down outside the doorway of the den, in a quiet corner between the wall and a chest of drawers, where he could be alone.

Grandpa House was talking. His voice sounded like Dad's but just a little bit different. Jack remembered suddenly that he was named for his Grandpa House. He wondered if his voice would sound like that when he was grown.

Then he realized that Grandpa House was talking about Dad.

"And that's how Greg told us he was going to have a kid. Smart ass." Grandpa House's friends laughed.

"So then Blythe says to him, 'You're just going to raise a baby all on your own?'" The men fell quiet when Grandma House's name was mentioned.

"And he says, 'No, I'm with Wilson. He's going to help me.'" Grandpa House paused, and Jack heard sloshing, clinking, and a gulp.

"And that's how he tells us he's a fag. No tact, no decency, no normal feeling. I'm surprised I expected anything different out of Greg." Grandpa House's friends were silent.

"That kid's kind of cute, though. He was sure the apple of Blythe's eye. Smart kid, of course, but he's real disciplined, too. Knows how to take direction, how to get things done. He sure didn't get that from Greg. Wilson's always seemed a bit soft to me, but maybe he's got a proper tough streak in him. Who knows with fags?"

One of Grandpa House's friends left the den just then, closing the door behind him.

Jack sat and listened to his own breathing. The worst word in the whole world, and Grandpa House had used it against Dad and Pop. Boys weren't really supposed to cry, and names should never hurt you. Only sticks and stones. So why did it feel like his eyes were getting poked and his heart was getting pounded?

Pop was there all of a sudden and pulled him off the floor, picked him up, and held him like when Jack was little. Jack wrapped his legs around Pop's waist and dug his face into Pop's neck as the sobs began.

"Sticks and stones," Jack whispered. "Boys don't cry."

Pop held him tight and stroked his hair. "It's been a long day. A very long day. Anybody might cry on a day like today."

"Bet Dad's not," said Jack through his tears.

Pop half-sighed, half-chuckled. "Dad's a special case. I think maybe he used up his tears."

Pop pulled back and chucked Jack's chin to get him to look up into Pop's eyes. They were warm and strong, even though they were a little wet.

"You and me, I think we've got a larger supply than most. It's fine."

Jack dived for Pop's neck again, pressing forward to muffle the sound. "I don't want Grandpa House to hear."

Pop tightened his hug. "I don't give a shit if Grandpa House hears, and you shouldn't either. He can't tell you what to feel."

That startled Jack out of his tears. He pulled back to check out his father's face.

"Pop! You said a bad word!"

Pop smiled a little. "Yes, I did. The situation _warranted_ it. Before you ask, warranted means 'justified' or 'made appropriate.'"

He continued, "Are you OK?" Jack nodded. "Can I let you down then? Because you're getting heavy. You'll be fighting in the welterweight class soon."

Jack let go of Pop's waist and dropped his legs to the floor. He kept his arms around Pop's neck a little longer, just to keep the hug going. "Dad doesn't like hitting."

"No, he doesn't. But for some reason boxing doesn't count. Go figure." Pop patted Jack's back. "Do you want a juice?"

"Can I have a soda? They only have crappy juice." Jack was surprised to see the expression Pop normally gave Dad aimed at him. "What? The juice warranted it."

Pop laughed and tapped Jack's shoulder to get him moving toward the kitchen. "You are your father's son."


	2. Chapter 2

Jack's birthday was in August. It was a hard time of year to get friends to come to your birthday party; everyone always seemed to be away on vacation. So, the year that Jack turned eight, Pop let him send out twelve invitations.

All twelve boys accepted. Pop did not take it very well.

Jack overheard Pop and Dad talking in the kitchen one day about the party.

"All right, it's on Saturday, so we're five days out," Pop said. "Decorations, food, gift bags: I think I'm on track with everything. Cuddy finally agreed this morning that she'll come over and help. Everything's going to be fine, right?" Pop was sounding _harassed_.

"OK, Martha Stewart. They're just boys; they won't care."

"Oh, but their mothers will care. You're lucky I'm a simple guy; you don't know how competitive these things can get."

Dad's amusement was clear in his voice. "You are such a woman!"

"Oh, shut up. You're not the one who has to face these women at PTA meetings. They can be cliquish; they can make things difficult if they decide to. I need them on my side."

"PTA politics. So sexy."

"Cut that out, and help me with this list of activities. What about pin the tail on the donkey?"

"Jack and his friends are eight, not three. And did you say this was next Saturday? I'm not going to be here; I've got a thing."

"Oh, you are going to be here. We're having twelve eight-year-olds in this house."

"You and Cuddy can handle it."

"Twelve eight-year-old boys! That's about the equivalent of a hundred adults. You're staying and you're helping. Now come up with another activity."

"I'm thinking of a pretty good activity right now. Not really for children, though."

"Did I not tell you to cut that out? What are you doing? No! No, no, no." Pop was laughing now. Obviously, Dad had started Tickle Fingers. Jack enjoyed a good game of Tickle Fingers, but it was kind of weird when Dad did it to Pop. Dad's eyes would get real narrow and Pop's would get real wide, and Jack would have to leave the room. Which he did right now, even though Pop and Dad hadn't seen him. Maybe he'd finish up some homework.

That Saturday morning was a busy one. Pop was everywhere, doing this and that, and Jack couldn't tell if Dad was trying to help or trying to get in the way.

Pop finally sent Dad and Jack off to the mall, saying Jack should get a haircut. Dad and Jack both thought a haircut was a lame idea, so they had ice cream instead. When they got back home, Aunt Lisa was there and Pop was _appreciably _calmer.

After a quick lunch and an argument over what Jack should wear to the party (why did Pop always want him to wear a tie?), they were almost ready for the guests to arrive. Dad pulled Jack aside for a quick talk.

"OK, let's go over this again. What's the rule?"

"We don't talk about our family." Jack sighed, but Dad's expression remained stern.

"What are you going to call me during this party?

"House."

"Right. You'll tell people I'm your father's friend."

Jack sighed again and fidgeted. His new shirt was kind of stiff. "Dad, isn't lying bad?"

"Of course, but that's not a lie. We are friends. You're just not going to mention that Wilson and I are something else as well."

"OK, Dad. I mean, House."

"Good boy. Let's go grab a snack before your friends get here and devour it all."

Teddy got there first, then Leo, and then a bunch of guys all together. They had some games, a cool scavenger hunt, and cake and ice cream before Pop started to look _frazzled_ and insisted that all the boys had to stay outside for the rest of the party.

It wasn't too hot, and Dad broke out the water guns, so being outside was just fine with Jack. He was standing with Teddy and Mark, watching their friend Neal follow Aunt Lisa around for some reason, when Leo came up to him.

"Ha ho!" said Leo. He had a funny way of talking sometimes.

Jack tried to give Leo the bored look Dad gave people he thought were dumb. "What?"

"Your dad is gay." Leo was smiling, but it wasn't that nice of a smile.

"What?" Jack repeated. It was very hard to keep the bored look going when his heart was starting to beat faster.

"I was just inside and went by the kitchen, and that old guy was kissing your dad. He's gay."

Mark and Teddy had moved a little bit away from Jack. They had been standing next to him; now they were more next to Leo.

"You must need new glasses, Leo. You didn't see anything," Jack said, but his voice was not as steady as he would have liked.

Now Teddy was smiling, and Mark was laughing. Teddy said, "If your dad's gay, then you must be gay, too."

"Cut it out."

Mark, Teddy, and Leo had moved closer, and now they were all saying it together, "Gay! Gay! Gay!"

Jack knew he shouldn't feel ashamed, but he did. He had to swallow to get rid of the lump in his throat.

"Gay!" the boys cried louder, and then suddenly Dad was there, impossibly tall. His knuckles were white, right hand clenched on his cane, left hand in a fist.

"Right, you're all going home," he said tightly.

"No!" Jack knew instinctively that that would make things worse.

"Jack, you're in the middle of something you don't understand."

"They're my friends. You can't kick them out."

"I'm not seeing friendly behavior here. They're going." Dad grabbed Teddy's shirt collar.

The hurt and anger had grown beyond the capacity of Jack's eight-year-old body, and the most hateful thing he could think of blew out: "You're not my father!"

That rocked Dad. An enormous pain filled his eyes, and he slowly closed his eyelids as if to keep it from spilling out. His fingers slipped off Teddy's collar. When his eyes opened again, less than a second later, his expression had moved on to simply grim, but the pain still danced around the shadows.

"I'm your father," Pop said from behind Dad's shoulder. All four boys turned to stare at him, startled by this new appearance. Truthfully, Jack was grateful to get away from the awful look in Dad's eyes and the emotions in his own chest that he had no name for.

"You know the rules of this house, Jack. I hear shouting and name-calling, neither of which is how we conduct a conversation. I think a break is in order." Pop pointed toward the house, and Jack's friends started walking.

"You, too, Jack. Move it." Jack didn't even get a half-step before he felt Dad's hand on his shoulder.

"Jack didn't do anything wrong. You're going to punish him, too?"

Pop's jaw clenched and unclenched, and he looked straight into Dad's eyes, although he spoke to Jack. "Jack, go in the house, and wait for me with your friends. Now." Jack took off, hoping to catch up to Teddy before they got inside.

"House, let me handle this. I know what to do. Why don't you grab Cuddy and get a water balloon game going with the rest of the boys?" Jack looked back and saw Dad stiffly nod to Pop before walking away.

Pop's expression was firm, unsmiling, when he came into the living room. "Right. Everyone here needs to take a five-minute break and think about what just happened. I want you all in this room, but separated from each other. Teddy, you sit on the couch. Leo, take this chair; Mark, take that one." The boys hurried to their seats; they had never heard Pop this stern before.

Pop left the room, and Jack was confused. Where was he supposed to sit? "Pop?"

Pop came back carrying a dining room chair. He put it down across from the couch. "Here, Jack. Sit. All of you stay seated, and no talking. I'll be in the kitchen and I'll come get you when time's up."

They sat silently for almost a minute. Jack was feeling ashamed. He didn't start the argument with the guys, but that yelling at Dad was pretty bad.

He looked up at Teddy, who had a strange look on his face. Then Teddy smiled a _mischievous_ smile and started kissing the back of his hand, trying to be funny. Leo snickered; Jack just stared.

"No talking," Pop called from the kitchen.

Teddy was such a loser. He had to be paid back. Jack scowled and very slowly raised his middle finger. Leo and Mark both stared and then started snickering again, covering their mouths.

Teddy scowled back and raised his middle finger, too, pushing his hand toward Jack boldly. Jack couldn't help it; he started to laugh at how crazy Teddy was, how crazy he himself was. He tried to keep it as quiet as he could.

Leo looked at Mark and gave the finger with both hands, one toward Teddy, one toward Jack. Mark shook so hard with laughter that he fell off his chair.

Pop came in the room and gave them all a severe look. "Mark, in your chair. No talking from any of you." He pointed to each of them in turn. "You have two minutes left."

Jack tried to be quiet, tried not to laugh, but every time he looked at Teddy, he couldn't quite help himself. By the time Pop told them they should all go outside, Jack's sides hurt from holding the laughter in. He pushed Teddy out the door, and won their race to the big tree in the middle of the yard.

***

Jack was in bed that night, fast asleep, and never heard the argument between Dad and Pop. This is how it went:

Wilson, I've been thinking.

Have you been thinking how'd you really like to do the dishes? Because that would help me out a lot.

Wilson, this is important. Sit.

What is it?

For Jack's sake, we have to make some changes around here. He's getting older, and he wants more people in his life. God knows why, it must be your influence, but there it is.

Where are you going with this?

So we have to think about, if he's going to be meeting new people and wanting them to like him, how his home life will affect that. And it's clear it's not having the right impact now.

House, I'm totally lost. You normally get to the point a little faster.

OK, here's the point: I'm going to move out.

What? Why would you say that?

Just what I was telling you. As Jack gets older, it'd be easier for him, better for him if he had a normal home life. Two dads is not normal. So, I'm going to move out.

This is the most unreal conversation we've ever had. And that is definitely saying something.

You'll see; it'll work out better for everyone.

What is so wrong with how things are today?

This is not the most conventional of lifestyles. It's hardly even conventional for gay couples. My relationship with you is mostly in the closet, and I'm practically in the closet as a father for Jack.

Decisions I seem to recall you having a very large hand in making. And this is how you're going to make it better for us? By deciding everything yourself, not giving us a say?

Jack is eight. He doesn't get a say.

I'm not eight. Where am I in this discussion?

Wilson.

Don't "Wilson" me. Where is all this coming from? Why now? What's changed?

The boys today were attacking Jack.

Hassling him, sure.

They called him gay. They didn't mean happy.

You're offended by that? It's just an insult kids use, like, I don't know, "poopyhead." It's not right, but that's how it goes. I probably called a friend that when I was a kid.

That's all you heard, them calling him gay? You missed how that one kid, the gangly one with the glasses, saw me kissing you in the kitchen and concluded you were gay, and therefore Jack was gay? That's what provoked the whole thing.

When did you kiss me in the kitchen today? That peck on the cheek? Leo probably didn't even mean it, that he thought I was gay. It's just something to rag on your friend about.

It was more vicious than that.

I don't think it was. Jack's not being bullied. We would have seen something before this, if that was the case.

Because we got so much advance notice when you got the shit kicked out of you.

That was three drunk idiots, five years ago. Not the same thing at all.

You could have died, Wilson. Because of something I said about who we are. And now we've – OK, I've twisted Jack into this code of silence, and it's not in his nature.

He's always been unusually mature. He's discreet; he's handling it fine.

And I'm not unusually mature, and I can't trust myself to be discreet. It's you. Put your hackles back down; I'm not blaming you. I'm just saying you do something to me. From the first minute we kissed, I – I just – I go crazy around you. I've been waiting for it to dampen down, to settle into something manageable, and it just hasn't. I'm so crazy about you that sometimes I feel I'll burst if I keep it all in.

That's good! That's love, you jerk.

I know what it is. But when it's this powerful, it's dangerous. We've seen the consequence, and that cannot happen to Jack. I won't let it.

You're being ridiculous. Fine. We can move somewhere safer, more 'friendly' to our kind of family. San Francisco, or Vermont, or Amsterdam. I don't know; wherever you want.

This is Jack's home! He has friends, and his activities, and his school. He's doing well. We're not moving him!

So instead, you're leaving us.

This will work out much better for everyone. You'll find a nice woman to get married to, and we'll let her adopt Jack. Then I'll just be Bio-Dad. People will understand that, it's easy to explain, and I'll get to see Jack, you know, whenever he has time.

And me? When will you see me?

It's probably better that we don't. See each other. Pick-ups and drop-offs, and maybe at work. Or I'll switch jobs, maybe teach.

Are you forgetting that I love you? That I've built my life around loving you?

Your life wasn't always that way. You can go back. You can... be normal.

You're totally delusional. I can't even talk to you any more, because you are making absolutely no sense.

You'll see in time that I'm right. Jack deserves a normal home. You can give it to him. I can't. So you will give it to him, you owe him that.

Insane. You must be in the midst of a psychotic break. Should I go get you some Haldol?

I'm right about this.

You always think you're right, and you know what? Sometimes you just aren't. We love each other, you and I, and we both love Jack. We're his parents. How is that not the best environment for him to grow up in?

You love Jack? Really love him?

Of course, you idiot.

You'd sacrifice anything for him?

Yes. You know that.

This is the sacrifice you have to make. The sacrifice I have to make. It's what will be best for Jack in the end.

I'm going to bed. You are not moving out. Come to bed with me, sleep on it, and in the morning we'll laugh at how paranoid you were tonight.

No, I'm not sleepy yet. You go to bed. I'm going to read for a while.

***

The next morning, Jack was standing next to the big bed. He hadn't been in their bedroom in a while. He remembered the bed being taller, but probably it was just that he used to be shorter.

"Pop?"

Pop was facing the side of the bed, and Jack, but was almost hidden in the blankets. He mumbled something but didn't open his eyes.

"Pop?" Jack was reaching out a hand when Pop's eyes finally opened.

"Jack? You're supposed to knock before you come in here." Pop's eyes were trying hard to focus, but they weren't there yet.

"The rule is knock when the door is closed." They'd established that rule when Jack was four, after that time that he didn't want to think about. "But the door's open."

He pointed toward the doorway. Pop rolled over just enough to see the door, and then rolled back toward Jack, closing his eyes again. "So it is."

"Pop, where's Dad?"

"Probably the bathroom." Pop seemed very reluctant to open his eyes. Jack was getting annoyed.

"I checked your bathroom before I talked to you."

"Try the kitchen."

"Dad's not anywhere in the house."

Pop smiled and scooted over toward the middle of the bed. "Maybe he went out for a ride. You know he does that sometimes. Why don't you go watch TV?"

Jack was really annoyed now. "If Dad went for a ride, why did he take all his books with him?"

Pop's eyes flew open, and he looked straight into Jack's face. "What?"

"Dad's books are all gone from the living room."

Pop was out of the bed so fast he looked like a superhero. He ran into the living room in just his underwear.

Jack followed behind, getting nervous.

"That bastard," Pop was saying, as he looked at the four nearly empty bookcases in the living room and the folded rolling cart by the door.

Jack was definitely nervous now. "Where is Dad? What's happening?'

"It's OK, Jack. Don't worry. I'll… go get him. He's been a little anxious lately, and just…" Pop was moving around the room, picking stuff up, putting it down, touching the books that were lying _haphazardly_ on the shelves.

"So, if that's the plan, that I'm going to go find your father, then what do we need to do to make that happen?" Pop was distracted. Jack couldn't tell if he was talking to himself or to Jack.

"We need someone to stay with you; that's the first thing." Pop turned toward Jack and smiled, but his eyes were still glancing over different parts of the room. "Your Aunt Lisa, that's who we'll call."

Jack's knees felt funny, his head felt dizzy, and he decided it was time to sit. He chose the coffee table, which was right in the middle of everything.

"Cuddy, can you come over?" Pop was saying into the phone. "I have to, um, run an errand, and need you to stay with Jack. I don't really know how long it'll be, maybe a couple of hours, hopefully less. Yeah, OK, we'll see you in a few."

Pop put the phone down on a bookcase shelf. Jack hoped they'd remember where it was later.

"So what's next?" Pop looked at Jack and then down at himself. "Hey, clothes, that's something we can do. Jack, go get dressed, and I will too. Who do you think will change faster?"

Jack didn't want to move.

"Where's Dad?"

"Well, I don't know exactly, but I'm going to go find him and bring him home, and then everything will be fine. But I can't do that unless I have clothes on, and I can't get clothes on unless you race me, so let's go."

Jack reluctantly got up and walked to his room. Pop was being so strange. And Dad's books being gone just did not feel right. Jack pulled a random shirt and a random pair of shorts out of his drawer and shoved them on.

When he got back to the living room, Pop looked like he had randomly picked his clothes, too. His shorts were bright green, and his t-shirt, which was really Dad's shirt, was yellow with a purple design.

Pop was pacing and still talking, but it was clear he was talking to himself, so Jack didn't listen. He took his seat on the coffee table and waited.

When the doorbell rang, it was a relief. Pop finally, finally stopped talking and went to answer the door.

"Cuddy, all right, good. Thank you for coming by so early." Aunt Lisa was staring at Pop's clothes but he didn't seem to notice.

"It's fine, but where is House? Why isn't he watching Jack?"

Pop rubbed the back of his neck and wouldn't look Aunt Lisa in the eye. "It's a long story."

"Oh, wait a minute. That's right. He told me at the end of Jack's party that he was taking the week off to go to a pain management seminar." Aunt Lisa rolled her eyes. "Thanks for the notice, House."

"He told you yesterday?" Pop fell heavily into a chair and put his face in his hands. "That bastard. He never even intended to listen to me."

Aunt Lisa was looking worried. "Wilson – James, are you crying?"

"No," Pop lied.

"I'm guessing from your reaction that House is not at a pain management seminar?"

"Pain management." Pop wiped his face and brought his head up to look at Aunt Lisa. "That might be some actual irony right there. Pain management."

"Do you think he's going to do something –" Aunt Lisa looked at Jack and then back to Pop.

"To himself? No. He's just going to stomp all over me."

Jack wanted to touch Pop, to hug him, but he was afraid he'd crack him, that he'd break into pieces like Humpty Dumpty and never get put back together again.

"James, I'm sorry, but I'm not quite following what you're saying." Aunt Lisa's face was soft, and the prettiest Jack had ever seen it.

Pop exploded out of the chair. "He left me, Lisa! He left me!" Pop covered his face again and let out a sob, and then another and another. Jack wanted to run away, he was so frightened by the intensity of Pop's reaction.

Aunt Lisa put a hand out towards Pop, but he was too far away for her to reach. "What happened?"

"What happened?" Pop was breathing hard, trying to stop crying so he could talk. "I got myself beaten up by assholes five years ago, that's what happened." He brought his hands down to his sides and curled them into fists.

"You know, I don't ever think about them," he continued. "They're not important, so I forget them, but he never does. They haunt him." Pop squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them again. The pain in his face was scary.

"And then yesterday, and the taunting, and I think he must have snapped. The ghosts got him."

Oh no, not yesterday. Jack had been mean to Dad yesterday. "Pop? Yesterday? Dad left because of me?"

"No. Absolutely not." Pop blew out a breath and rubbed at his nose before turning more fully towards Jack. "In fact, Dad didn't leave you; he's never going to leave you. You'll see, some time this morning he'll call and talk to you. Explain something, at least part of this, to you. He loves you so much, and so do I." Jack flew at Pop then and hugged him as tight as he could. Pop's hands were warm as they caressed Jack's head, but he seemed maybe too limp to really hug back.

"Lisa, would you mind staying with Jack for a while? Get him some breakfast, maybe play cards with him or something."

"Sure. I said I would; I'm happy to." Aunt Lisa was by them now, rubbing Pop's arm and Jack's back. "Are you going out now?"

"No, I feel the need to go back to bed." Pop patted Jack's head once and then left the room, not looking back.

Pop had been right. About an hour later, during Jack's third game of dominos with Aunt Lisa, Dad called.

"Jack?" he asked, and Jack felt like it had been a month since he'd seen Dad last.

"Where are you, Dad?"

"I'm taking a quick vacation. I'll be back to New Jersey by Friday, and I'll try to see you after school then."

"Why did you take all your books on your vacation? You made Pop cry."

"I'm sorry about that. Did I make you cry?"

Jack started drawing lines on the kitchen table with his fingers. He made a tic-tac-toe board. "No. So you're coming home Friday?"

"I need to talk to you about that. Is Wilson in the room with you?"

"No, he's in bed. Aunt Lisa is here. She's looking at me. I think she wants to talk to you." X's were winning in his tic-tac-toe game.

"I'll call her later. I need to talk to you now." Dad drew in a long breath, then blew it out quickly. "When I get back to New Jersey, I'm going to start living in a new place. It'll have a bedroom for you, but you're mostly going to live with Wilson in the house."

Jack could barely get his voice above a whisper. "I'm sorry I said you weren't my father."

"I deserved it. That's pretty much what I had told you to say, which was not fair at all to you. I'm going to fix that, OK? Once I'm not living with –" He stopped for a second. "Once I'm living somewhere else, then we'll be able to change things around some. It'll be better for you."

"You and Pop said broccoli would be better for me, and I don't like it at all."

Dad laughed, one quick "ha" that mostly came through his nose. "This is going to work out better than broccoli. Trust me."

Jack tried hard not to cry. "I want you to come home."

"I'll see you on Friday. And after that, you can come see me whenever you want. I won't be far."

"Dad…"

"I love you, Jack. I have to go. Tell Cuddy I'll call her later."

"Wait! Dad, what about Pop?"

"I'll see you after school on Friday, Jack. Goodbye."

The click on the line surprised Jack, and he dropped the receiver on the table. Aunt Lisa reached over and grabbed it. "House? House!" she yelled, but Jack could hear the dial tone from his chair.

She hung up the phone and looked at Jack with a mixture of curiosity and sympathy. It was too tender of an expression, and Jack had to look away.

"Did House say where he was?" Aunt Lisa's hands were tight around her coffee cup.

"No. He said he would call you later. I want to go see Pop."

"I'm sure he'd like that. Tell him I have an appointment at noon that I can't get out of, but I'll stay until then." She got up and started doing the dishes.

Pop wasn't asleep when Jack knocked on his door. He let Jack come in, and Jack crawled onto the bed with him. Pop had stopped crying, but his face looked terrible, _blotchy_ red and white. The dark circles under his eyes reminded Jack of the time Pop had been in the hospital. Those bruises had been nasty and awful, but this today was the worst Jack had seen Pop's face since.

They didn't say a word, just held each other until Aunt Lisa came to the doorway and said she had to leave. Pop got up calmly, thanked her, and went in the kitchen to make lunch.

Jack stared at the TV for the rest of the day and tried not to listen to Pop cry.

***

Dad kept his word and came by that Friday afternoon, before Pop got home from work. He'd gone to a bunch of museums while he was away and told Jack all about them as he packed his clothes. Jack didn't care but he listened anyway. It gave him a good excuse to stay close to Dad, so close that Dad tripped over him three times. Dad never scolded him, though, never told him to step back.

At five o'clock, Dad asked Marjorie to take his suitcases and boxes to the car for him. When she was gone, Dad hugged Jack and kissed the top of his head.

"You can come see me tomorrow," he said. "Whatever time works for you."

"I have soccer in the morning."

"Fortunately, my soccer team _disbanded_, so my schedule is wide open. Just tell me when to pick you up, and I'll be here."

"We have a pizza lunch afterwards. You can come to that."

Dad's smile was strange; it only seemed to be on one half of his face. "Another time. Wilson and I really shouldn't see each other right now."

"Why don't you love Pop any more?"

Dad's smile went away, came back, switched sides of his face. "I will love Wilson until the day I die, but I have to do what's best for you. This is best; you'll see."

Jack looked at his feet. He didn't know what to say.

Dad rubbed Jack's head once and said, "See you soon." Then he was gone. Jack kept looking at his feet until Marjorie made him wash up for dinner.

***

It took a while for them to get into a routine after Dad left. Like trying to walk without your cane, Jack guessed. School was pretty much the same, but he found it hard to concentrate. He cheated on a test for the first time, because he'd forgotten to read the textbook. He cheated off of Teddy, which was really stupid, so he got a C anyway. When he brought the test home, Pop looked at it and shrugged, with a little smile. "Guess you can't have an A on every test, Jack. Bound to happen at some point."

Marjorie was mostly the same, too, although she got frustrated with Pop's schedule. It had become pretty unpredictable. Some days he was home before Jack got home from school; other days he would stay at the hospital until after Jack had gone to bed.

"I have a life," she said to Pop, in her "you are a naughty boy" voice.

"Should I hire someone else?" Pop replied coldly.

"I never say anything to you about running your family. Not my business. But your son needs you. You have to hold it together for him."

"Thank you, Marjorie." Pop was still cold, sarcastic. "I never would have known if you hadn't been here." Marjorie looked at him, hard, but he had too much experience with Dad's intense gazes, and it just bounced off.

Dad's new apartment was small, but OK. He bought Jack a tall bookshelf all for himself and challenged him to fill it with everything he wanted to read. Jack filled it within the month.

Eventually, things evened out more. There was a rhythm to the days and weeks. Days at school, afternoons with Marjorie, evenings with Pop. Weekends there were sports, friends, birthday parties, time with Dad. Dad even started coming to some school events. He would always come late, and always be in the back, but Jack saw him there.

Jack and Pop were watching a DVD one Friday night, after a normal week, when something just broke inside Jack.

"When can Dad come home?"

Pop sucked in a breath, then let it out slowly. He kept looking at the TV. "Jack, he's welcome back any time, but he won't come. You have to accept that he's not going to live with us any more. With me." Pop turned to look at him. "You can live with him in his apartment if you want. I'd miss you terribly, but you can."

"But can't you make him come home?" He didn't want to sound like a whining baby, but there had to be something Pop could do.

"Jack, I can't make him do anything. Nobody can make him. He left because of his own baggage. Do you know what that word means?"

Jack was a little confused. "Suitcases?"

"That's one meaning, but I'm using it to say – Dad left because of his own emotions, his own thoughts, his own fears. Unless those change, he won't come back."

"Maybe we can make him change."

"I've known him more than twice as long as you have – he won't change. We have to love him the way he is." Pop patted Jack's leg and left the couch. He didn't come back until it was time for Jack to go to bed.

***

Jack spent most of his Saturday and Sunday nights at Dad's. He had never really thought about what Pop did during that time. He found out when he was eleven.

"I have some big news for you, Jack," Pop said one Saturday morning over pancakes.

"What, Pop?" Jack mumbled around his mouthful of food.

"You know my friend, Miss Elaine."

Jack nodded, but he was paying much more attention to the pancakes. Half were cranberry and half were blueberry, and they were so good.

Pop cleared his throat. "This is important, Jack. Elaine and I are going to get married."

Jack's mouth opened, and he had to grab with his hand to keep food from falling out. The clatter of his fork as it hit his plate was loud. "You can't get married. What about Dad?"

Pop's smile was sad. "We haven't lived together for three years, Jack. I'm tired of being alone. And Elaine is nice; you'll really like her when you get to know her better."

"She's not nice; I won't like her." He knew he sounded _petulant_, but that's how he felt.

"Don't you sound a lot like your other father." Pop was amused now, and that pissed Jack off more.

"Even if Dad doesn't live here, he's still family!"

"Of course he is. Elaine knows about him, and about you. She knows that she's marrying me, but she's committing to you, too." Pop looked Jack in the eye, looking for something. Maybe he wanted permission, but Jack didn't feel ready to give it.

"And, in some strange way, coming into our family involves commitment to your Dad as well. She knows that."

Jack picked up his fork and went back to eating his pancakes. They didn't taste that good any more.

The wedding was two months later. Jack _grudgingly_ had to admit that Elaine looked beautiful in her ivory suit. He stood next to Pop under the _chuppah_ and wished he was younger so that he could hold Pop's hand.

Dad was there, in the back, just like at school events. He came to the reception, too. Whenever someone would talk to him, he would smile as if the wedding had made him happy, but there was something strange in his eyes that Jack couldn't identify.

While Pop and Elaine were on their honeymoon, Jack got to spend the whole week with Dad. They ate terrible food and watched terrible television, and one day Dad let Jack skip school and go to work with him instead.

Dad's office was the same as always, but he had two new doctors working for him, and that made him cranky.

"This coffee is horrible," he yelled at the female doctor.

"Sorry, I missed the seminar on java brewing because I was actually practicing procedures." She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and went back to reading the patient's file.

"Leave the snappy comebacks to the professionals," Dad responded. "Jack, leave the whiteboard alone. It's not for drawing."

"I'm not drawing, Dad. I'm just fixing the words. Someone misspelled 'hemorrhage,' and 'intercranial' is wrong too. That would mean 'in between two heads.' 'Intracranial' is the right word."

The male doctor, who looked like he was just pretending to be a doctor, said, "Your kid's eleven, and he knows how to spell 'hemorrhage'?"

"Of course. He's my kid. How could you expect anything different?"

Dad poked Jack with his cane lightly, and Jack smiled as he put the cap back on the marker.

***

When Jack was twelve, Dad went away for a month. At first, they had told Jack it was a vacation, but then Pop finally admitted Dad was trying an experimental treatment for pain.

Jack was alarmed. "Aren't experimental things usually dangerous? Why can't he just keep doing what he's doing now for the pain?"

Pop smiled and patted Jack on the arm. "For a long time, that's what he did: stuck to one pain regimen. He finally agreed that it's too hard on his organs, and he needs to switch things up, try something new. The potential for benefit is a lot higher than the risks."

"He doesn't change his mind very much about things like that. Why did he change it now?"

"Because he wants to see as much of your life as he can."


	3. Chapter 3

Jennifer Schwartz was the most beautiful girl in Jack's class. He couldn't imagine why she was at his Bar Mitzvah party. He especially couldn't imagine why she was actually talking to him.

Her sweet "Hi" had taken his breath away. It was by luck only that he managed to reply coherently.

"Your mom is so sweet," Jennifer continued. She gestured toward Elaine, who was playing the proud hostess, laughing and greeting each guest.

Jack only spared Elaine a momentary glance. It was hard to look directly at Jennifer, but it was even harder to look away.

"She's my stepmother. My Pop married her two years ago. I guess she's nice."

"And your Pop is kind of handsome."

Jack didn't know what to say to that. He'd never thought about it one way or the other.

Jennifer took one step closer to him. He forgot to breathe for a moment.

"You look a lot like him."

Jennifer smelled like flowers. Her hands looked so soft. When he dared to lift his eyes to her face, she was smiling at him. He had to swallow hard.

And then suddenly they weren't alone.

"Luck of the draw, I assure you! The sperm genes are mine, not Wilson's."

"Dad!" Jack was mortified. Jennifer was staring at his Dad as if he were from another planet. "Um, Jennifer, this is my biological father. His name is House. I'm adopted, or I mean, I was adopted by my father. I mean, my Pop."

"Of course, if it hadn't been for schizophrenia and cystic fibrosis, it might have been the other way around."

"Dad!" Jack glared at Dad, and flashed an embarrassed smile at Jennifer. "He's just kidding. Um, bye."

Jack pushed Dad away from the tables and out the door to the hall. Dad was _chortling_ and pushing back against him, so he had to be careful not to make him trip. The need for caution calmed Jack down a bit and he was able to face Dad once they made it to a fairly private place.

"Dad! What about the rule that we don't talk about our family?"

Dad regarded him with a look of clear amusement. "I'm going to have to argue a point of semantics with you there, Jack. The rule is you" – he pressed one finger to Jack's nose briefly but firmly – "don't talk about your family. I'm an adult. I have the judgment to decide when it's appropriate and when it's not."

"I don't think it was really appropriate then," Jack responded sourly. "And, anyway, that's not how you said the rule the first time you told me, when Pop was in the hospital. You said, 'We don't talk about our family.'"

"When Wilson was in the hospital? You remember that?"

"Just some. Pop's face was so bruised; I thought the colors were strange. And you said to me, 'See, Jack, this is why we don't talk about our family.'"

Dad's face was pensive. He was looking just over Jack's head, and then he traced Jack's hairline with a finger, pushing the hair back out of the way.

Jack felt a little too old to have his hair stroked like that – he was a man today, after all – but he let it go. "And then you said something about a cauliflower tail. I never figured out what that meant."

Dad had gently rubbed the back of Jack's neck one time, and then brought his hand to Jack's shoulder. He pressed down once, twice as he puzzled over this comment.

"I don't remember saying anything about cauliflower."

"I don't know. Just another weird thing adults say. You wanted me to see the point of the cauliflower tail."

The hand on Jack's shoulder bore down on him sharply, as Dad shook with laughter. "_Cautionary tale_, that's what I said. It was a cautionary tale, a lesson you needed to learn about danger."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?" Jack shoved Dad off him angrily, and stepped back. "I was only three."

"I know." Dad's tone was _conciliatory_, and that was unusual enough for Jack to give him a look. "That was a rough time for all of us. You withstood it very, very well for such a young child."

"You never talk to me about it."

Dad looked down, avoiding Jack's gaze. "I didn't think you remembered. And I don't want you to think about it."

Pop found them then. "Jack, you need to be out with your guests; it's only polite. Oh. Hi, House."

"Jimmy, my boy."

Pop was instantly suspicious. "House. You had a drink tonight."

Dad was bouncing his cane up and down. "It's a big moment in Jack's life, a big celebration."

Hands on his hips, Pop began to shake his head. "You're not supposed to have any alcohol while you're taking your new pain meds. None."

"Eh, what do you know about it?" Dad was being very nonchalant in the face of Pop's exasperation. This was not a good sign.

"I do like to research the medications I prescribe to people."

"I told you what to give me."

"Now you're just arguing for argument's sake." Pop turned to Jack. "Go get Dad a glass of water."

Jack hurried out of the hall. It'd been a long while since he'd heard Pop yell at anyone, but it looked like it was going to be Dad's turn.

After getting the water, Jack walked slowly back toward the hall. He really was not in the mood to hear more arguing. When he got to the door to the hall, he listened through it, trying to gauge the mood.

No yelling, but Pop did sound very serious.

"It's been ten years, House. Nobody thinks about that any more but you."

"Jack remembers it."

"He does not! He was too young."

"He remembers visiting you in the hospital. He just told me."

"Damn."

"I wonder if the assholes think about it when they're working at their jobs or putting their kids to bed at night. 'Hey, Susie, did I ever tell you about that time Daddy beat up some fags?'"

Jack felt bad for listening at the door, but Dad and Pop would never tell him about what had happened. Even tonight, Dad had barely said anything.

"House, they're in jail. Let it rest."

"Nope, they're not in jail. Not any more. Asshole #1, the guy who started it, is in Detroit. Asshole #2, the shortest one, is in some shithole no-name town in Texas. Asshole #3, the other one, is dead. Shanked in prison. I'm hoping he was raped too, but don't know for sure."

"You're not stalking them, are you?"

"No, I'm not stalking them. I'm on the official victim notification list. I should've been able to get on as your family member but couldn't because of the goddamn laws of the state. Fortunately, when the assholes jammed the cane into my thigh that night, they made me a victim too, so now I get to know all about them until they die. And even a little bit after. Asshole #3 is buried just outside of Philadelphia. I went and literally spit on his grave. Danced a little, too."

"You should let it go, House."

"You almost died."

"But I didn't."

"But you could have. And I made it happen."

"House, it was random. Could not have been predicted, could not have been prevented."

"If I'd kept my mouth shut –"

"Do you remember that you didn't want to go there that night? You wanted to go to Magill's. But I said, no, too noisy and their onion rings suck. So, if I'd just gone to Magill's like you wanted, none of this would have happened. Or, if I'd become an astronaut like I wanted to when I was five, none of this would have happened. Of course, I never would have met you and we never would have had Jack."

Pop paused a second and then continued, "Those men wanted to hurt someone that night. There was no way you could have controlled it, House. You have to stop letting it control you."

"I don't feel so good. I think I should go home."

Pop sighed. "House, you are so simplistic when you want to avoid discussions." There was a pause. "Wait a minute, you are kind of warm."

Oh, no, that didn't sound good. Jack went back in the hall. Dad was sitting on a bench and looking a little pale.

"Jack, great, give your Dad the water. House, sip that, and then go to the front. I'll get my car and take you home." Pop started for the door.

Dad shook his head. "I'll take a cab. You have hosting duties."

Pop stopped at the door, and smiled back at them.

"Elaine can take care of it just fine. I'll tell you a secret: other than the kids, they're mostly her friends anyway."

Jack felt Dad's forehead; it was pretty warm. "Should I come with you, Dad?"

"No, Jack, stay here and enjoy your party. You need to dance with that girl." Dad nudged Jack in the side.

"What girl?"

"The one I terrorized."

"Oh, Jennifer." Just saying her name made Jack feel like he was blushing. "She wouldn't want to dance with me."

"Son, I have never been as suave with the ladies as Wilson, but I have learned at least one thing. When they tell you you're funny, you don't have a prayer. But when they tell you you're handsome, then you're definitely going to get a dance out of them." He stood up and knocked Jack on the shoulder.

"C'mon, you can walk me to the front door."

It was hard to tell where it came from – it really didn't fit the situation – but Jack suddenly felt proud of his Dad.

"I love you, Dad."

Dad's face was serious, but his eyes were loving. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, Jack. I'm grateful every day that you're part of my life."

Well, that was just embarrassing. "You don't have to get sappy about it."

They were at the front door. Dad gestured with his head. "Go back to the party. I'll call you tomorrow."

Jennifer did dance with Jack, twice, and he thought about trying to kiss her, but chickened out.

By the end of the party, Pop had not returned. Elaine and Jack went home in a taxi.

"I thought your father said he was going to come back."

Jack was looking out the window, and he didn't bother to turn toward Elaine. "Dad wasn't feeling so good. I don't think he could come back."

"I mean James. He really should have said goodbye to the guests."

Jack shrugged.

Pop finally made it home the next day just as Elaine and Jack were finishing breakfast. He ruffled Jack's hair as he gave the update. "Dad's fever broke at about sunrise. He's going to be fine. Nothing to worry about."

"Jack, why don't you go take your shower?" Elaine's face was tight, and she was clearly telling him, not asking him, so he mumbled a goodbye and left the room.

The sharpness in Elaine's next words surprised Jack, and he stayed close to the kitchen to hear.

"We said no overnights!"

"House was sick. He had a fever; it could have been anything. I had to stay and see if he was going to need antibiotics." There was a pause, and Jack wondered if Elaine had rolled her eyes or shrugged.

"Elaine, he's alone. He doesn't have anyone to take care of him when these things happen."

"Yes, he does have someone. And luckily for him, it's someone who will ignore all other obligations in favor of what House wants."

"I don't think that's fair."

"Fair?" There was a slapping sound, like Elaine had hit a dishtowel against the table or counter. "How about having a husband who's in love with someone else and a stepson who treats me like a piece of furniture? Is that fair?"

"Elaine. We discussed this before we got married."

"Yes, and you agreed to no overnights. Check him into the damn hospital if you have to, but you spend the night in our bed."

"Elaine." Pop sighed.

"Do you know why I married you, James? Because I loved you, and because I didn't want to be alone any more. I can share your love, but if you're going to leave me alone, there's not any point to this."

"Elaine, I love you. I do. Come here. I'm sorry; I'm so sorry…" Pop's voice became muffled, and Jack decided it was time to go. He didn't like seeing Pop and Elaine hugging or kissing. It was… unnatural.

***

In Jack's sophomore year in high school, everything turned stupid. School was stupid, activities were stupid, home was stupid. His crappy-ass McDonald's job was particularly stupid. The only things that gave him any relief were hanging out with his friends, being on the Internet, and listening to music.

Even Dad turned stupid, and that was the most disappointing thing of all. They were having breakfast one day, and Dad was talking about a lame concert at school that Jack had gotten roped into playing at.

"It's at seven tomorrow, right?" Dad asked.

Jack grunted and didn't look up from his cereal bowl.

"I just switched my bowling night to Thursdays, so I'll definitely be there."

"Pop and Elaine'll be there. You don't have to come. Whatever." He shrugged and shoveled another spoonful in his mouth.

"Jack, you know that rule got _rescinded_, right? It's all right if you talk about your family."

"Dad." Jack was exasperated. "I'm fifteen. None of my friends talk about their families; I'm not talking about mine." He pushed back from the table and headed to his room. Time to get his stuff together for another stupid day.

***

The college brochures started coming in the mail in the middle of Jack's sophomore year, after he'd taken the PSATs a year early, just to get them out of the way. He threw all the brochures in a drawer, not ready to look at them.

The flow of mail surged in February of his junior year, after he was named a National Merit Scholar Finalist. Elaine bought a file box and started filing the brochures alphabetically.

A few enterprising institutions even found Dad's address attached to Jack's name somewhere, and sent him materials there. Quoting to Jack from the brochures became one of Dad's favorite pastimes.

"Here's another Great Books college. Thomas Aquinas in California… Ooh, this one's Catholic. Think they'll take a half Jew, half atheist?" Dad was sprawled on the couch, a stack of envelopes on his chest.

"Nobody can be half-atheist, Dad." Jack looked over Dad's shoulder at the brochure. "And I've read almost all the books they list there."

"Yes, but have you divined their true meaning? Thomas Aquinas will help you 'form habits of thought and discourse. And by means of these habits, you can better lay hold of the knowledge and wisdom recorded in the Great Books.' Fun."

"Dad." Jack flopped in the chair next to the couch and regarded his bag of chips.

Dad let the brochure fall from his fingers onto the floor and started to open another envelope. "You know, Princeton 's not a bad school. You could try there."

"I'm not living at home while I go to college." The chips were salt and vinegar, not Jack's favorite, but he ate them, anyway.

"Of course not. To get the full college experience, you can't live at home. So, you'll move in full-time with me instead." House slipped a new brochure out. This one was a nasty orange and green and was immediately thrown to the ground.

"Dad."

"We already eat like college students when you're here, so that's taken care of. Admittedly, Wilson has better access to marijuana, but I'm willing to get a keg fridge if you want. I even know the stethoscope on the door trick for when you need some private time."

Dad craned his neck to look over the sofa arm at Jack.

"What do you say?"

Smiling, Jack shook his head, crumpled the empty chip bag, and threw it at him. "I've already picked where I'm going. Michigan."

Dad's eyes opened wider, and then he blinked. "My old stomping grounds? What made you decide that? And why didn't you talk to me when you were making up your mind?"

Jack shrugged. "I don't know why I didn't talk to you. Just decided by myself. I haven't told Pop yet, either."

The envelopes fell to the floor as Dad sat up. "There are a lot of factors that should go into your decision. You have a lot of options, and you shouldn't be hasty."

"Yeah, I know. For a while, I was thinking I'd join the Marines, just like Grandpa."

The glare directed his way was highly amusing. "Kidding. I looked at U-C San Francisco and U-T Austin, too, but I really like the graduate Pharm program at Michigan."

"Farm program? You want to study agriculture?"

"Pharm with a P-H. Short for pharmacy."

"You're teasing me again." Dad leaned forward and started picking up the envelopes and brochures. He must have been feeling unsettled; normally, he'd leave them for Jack to clean up.

"Nope. I want to be a retail pharmacist."

"You're going to sell greeting cards and gum." The envelopes slapped onto the coffee table.

"Not a drugstore clerk, Dad, a pharmacist. It's a good job, solid money, in demand everywhere. It's productive, helps people, and best of all, I'll get to leave it behind completely at the end of the day. No being on call, no puzzling over work in the middle of the night."

"It's fun to puzzle over work in the middle of the night." Dad sat back and looked into Jack's eyes searchingly. "Why is leaving the job behind so important to you?"

"Because the job's not all I'm going to be about. I also want to be –" Jack stopped for a second and considered. "No, make that I am a writer. I need time to work on that, too."

"You're a writer." Dad's face held hints of skepticism, but for Dad, that was pretty good.

"Well, not published. Yet. I am only sixteen. But I've been putting some stuff on the Internet, and have gotten some good feedback."

"There are a lot of idiots on the Internet. They pass out good feedback like it's candy on Halloween."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence. But I mean comments and critique from people whose writing I think is good." Jack shrugged again, even though Dad wasn't looking at him at that point. "Of course, it's not professional, not published, but hey, that's why I want to do the pharmacy gig. Make my money there and just write what pleases me. If it catches on, great. If not, then I've had a good time creating it."

"You've never shown me any of your pieces."

The thought of Dad reading his work made Jack feel bashful. "Nothing so far has been, um, worthy of you, Dad. I promise, the first really good thing I write, I'll let you read."

With a smile, Dad looked at him again. "I'm sure it's all excellent. You're my son; how could it not be?"

"There is that."

"Michigan, really?" Dad sank back on the couch until he was lying along it with his head on the arm.

"Michigan really."

"Wilson's going to be upset. I think he had his heart set on you going to McGill."

"I did look at it. No Pharm program."

"I think they do have some cows, though. Did I ever tell you about the Clinic patient who said he was in love with cows?"

***

The rest of high school flew by. Jack got into Michigan in the College of Literature, Science, and the Arts, and then in April was selected for the preferred admission program in pharmacy, which meant in two years he'd automatically transfer to the Pharm.D. program. It was good to have that settled.

In June, Pop and Elaine threw him a big graduation party. Leo caught Dad kissing Pop in the kitchen again, which was embarrassing if also amusing. After a hasty negotiation, in which he purchased Leo and Teddy's silence with Scotch he'd purloined from Dad, they re-joined the party with no one the wiser and proceeded to have a great night.

That summer was busy too, with work and friends and writing. Jack kept an eye out for any hint that the kitchen kissing might lead to a change in Pop and Dad's relationship, but things kept on as they were. After clearing it with Jack ("Are you sure it's OK? It's your last summer before college."), Elaine and Pop went to Aruba for a week, and came back happier than they'd been in a while.

For Jack's eighteenth birthday in August, Dad rented him a motorcycle and they went on a three-day ride, which about gave Pop a stroke. They made it back in one piece, though, and that was the happiest Jack had seen Dad in a while.

The Aruba trip had mellowed Elaine out, because she finally agreed to let Pop go with Dad to drive Jack to college. "I could call in sick and come, too," she called from the porch as they were packing the last of Jack's things into the rental truck.

"Can only have three in the cab, ma'am," Dad replied, tipping his trucker hat at her, as he climbed into the truck.

"We'll be fine, sweetheart," Pop said and kissed her goodbye. Jack barely heard him as he said quietly to her, "Jack will chaperone on the way there, and House and I will come straight back without stopping. I promise."

"Goodbye, Elaine!" Jack waved goodbye from the truck.

His heart not being in it, he was a highly ineffective chaperone over the next few days.

***

Was eighteen too early to have a mid-life crisis? Jack was exhausted by the end of his first year at college. He'd had a full load of classes, heavy on the science, campus job, intramural lacrosse (Dad had been pleased), volunteering at the children's center (Pop had been pleased), and a stint on the school paper (Jack had been pleased until he'd had a blowout with the moron ops page editor who wouldn't know good writing if it bit him on his sizable ass). Plus the whole "living on your own for the first time and making brand new friends when you'd lived in the same small town your whole life" thing. Oy.

One very bright spot in front of him: his first full week back, both Dad and Pop were taking the week off to spend with him, and Elaine was taking vacation time as well. For a trip to Mexico with her sister.

By the time Jack and Pop got back from taking her to the airport, Dad was already planted on the couch in the family room, feet on the coffee table, and various and sundry accoutrements strewn about the floor.

"Want a beer?" he offered. "I brought porn."

Scary how quickly the exasperation could build in Pop. "There are so many things wrong with those six syllables, I can't even tell you. This is not a great start to our week together."

"What?" To an outsider, Dad would have looked baffled, but Jack could see the grin hiding beneath.

"Let's just go with the most obvious: that it's nine a.m. Get up off my couch."

Dad started to get up, then stopped and ran a hand along the edge of the seat. "You know, this actually is my couch. How do you still have it? And, come to think of it, why do you still have it? It's over twenty years old."

"I like that couch. I have fond memories on that couch. Now get up and let's go to brunch."

"Jews and your brunch," Dad replied as he sauntered out the door. "You turning into a lox boy as well, Jacky?"

They lingered over brunch so long that it fell into lunch. Pop told them all about a new treatment protocol that was working wonders in pediatrics. Dad had compiled and ranked a list of the stupidest Clinic patients of the year, and they assigned awards based on orifice involved.

They spent the afternoon playing old-style video games (what really was the point of _Grand Theft Auto_?) and the evening eating Chinese takeout and arguing over the best zombie movies.

Finally, at about nine o'clock Dad turned to Jack and said, "All right. Let's have your report card."

"My report card? Do you mean my transcript?"

"Hand it over, so I can sign it." Dad held out his hand, while Pop rolled his eyes.

"You're so weird, Dad. But I think I still have it on my phone. Hold on."

After taking the phone, Dad squinted to make out the text, and then read it aloud.

"Physics, A. Chemistry, A. Human Anatomy, A. Introduction to Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Transgender and Queer Studies, which is one of the most tortured class titles I've ever seen… B minus?" He was almost comically surprised.

"You must be seeing that wrong. You need new reading glasses." Pop took the phone and squinted as well. "Huh, that does say 'B minus.'"

"You got As in everything else and a B minus in Gay Studies? How did that happen?"

Jack huffed and rolled his eyes. "The professor said my views were stereotypical and lacking in real-life experience."

Dad and Pop both seemed bewildered. Dad replied, "Did he expect you to sleep with a guy just for that class? How much more real-life experience did you need?"

Understanding dawned on Pop's face. "You never mentioned us, did you?"

"Not really, I guess."

"You guess?" asked Dad skeptically.

Jack looked at each of them quickly and then down at his knees. "Not talking about my family is a hard habit to break."

They were silent for a few minutes, until Dad poked Jack in the arm. "One more time at _Grand Theft Auto_ and then I have to go."

They stretched it out for over an hour, so that it was past ten when Dad started collecting his things to leave.

It seemed so wrong for Dad to go. Jack looked over at Pop, who seemed to have the same thought. He nodded.

Jack caught Dad by the arm. "Dad, just stay. You said we were all going to spend the week together. If you go back to your place, it'll be a pain having to call you in the morning, find out if you're up, wait for you to come over… It'll be more fun if you're just here."

Dad smiled briefly. "You may have a year of college under your belt, but I don't think you're head of the household here."

"I want you to stay," Pop said, and it was hard for Jack to remember the last time he sounded quite that serious.

Dad looked from Jack to Pop and then nodded. "All right. It's getting pretty late, anyway." He sat down again and threw his arms back along the top of the couch.

Jack smiled. "It's been a long day; I'm going to bed. Good night, Dad."

"Good night, Jack." Dad didn't even look up, but his voice was warm.

"Good night, Pop."

Pop hugged him close. "Good night, sweetheart."

"Sweetheart?" Dad called from the couch. "He's practically a grown man, for Christ's sake. Quit fussing over him, or you'll turn him gay."

"And heaven forbid that should happen to a son of ours."

Pop kissed Jack on the cheek noisily, probably just to spite Dad, then let him go. Jack smiled again, kissed Pop back, and made his way to his bedroom.

He had finished brushing his teeth and was about to turn in, but decided he couldn't resist a little spying on his parents. Feeling like a kid on Christmas Eve, he tiptoed down the hall and peeked around the corner.

Dad was still on the couch, and Pop was puttering somewhere, probably in the kitchen.

"Wilson, are you going to get me a pillow and blanket, or do I have to find them myself?" Dad called.

"The guest bedroom bed has fresh sheets, but you're not staying there." Pop re-entered the living room, wiping his hands on a dishtowel.

"You're kicking a cripple to the couch? Nice."

"I'm too old for this shit," Pop replied. He threw the dishtowel on a chair, crossed the room, and sat on the coffee table directly in front of Dad.

He looked straight into Dad's eyes and said, "I want you to come to bed with me."

Dad brought his arms down from the sofa back and crossed them over his chest. "Your wife –"

"Is gone for the week."

"You always say –"

"The key is that she doesn't want to be alone. She's not alone this week; she's with her sister. Elaine is well aware that I still love you. You were part of the prenup."

Dad rolled his eyes and made a face. "Oh, you had to go and bring the 'l word' into things. Now I'm going to feel guilty about molesting you in your sleep."

"You should feel guilty. You should save all your molesting for when I'm awake."

Dad broke away from Pop's gaze and looked at the right sofa arm. He looked at the left sofa arm, the piano in the corner, the ceiling, and then Pop again. "Are you really sure about this?"

"I am really sure about this." Pop reached out a hand to help Dad pull himself up from the couch, but Dad ignored it in favor of clamping a hand on Pop's shoulder. He pulled and struggled and ended up plastered against Pop, his stomach pressed against Pop's head.

"Not that I don't enjoy the view," Pop mumbled, "but how am I supposed to get up now?"

"You'll think of something," Dad said, but quickly stepped back and sideways to free up space for Pop to rise.

Pop waggled his eyebrows as he stood. "I'm thinking of something very pleasurable indeed."

"You can't rush these things at our age. You've got to give an old man time to get revved up."

"You have until we make it to the bedroom." Pop was already walking.

"I've missed you, Wilson," said Dad seriously to Pop's back.

Pop looked back over his shoulder. "Let's go."

Jack beat a hasty retreat to his own bedroom and was still smiling when he fell asleep.

The next morning, when he headed into the kitchen, the scene could only be described as content.

Dad was seated at the kitchen table. Pop was standing behind him with his arms around Dad, cheek lying on Dad's head. Dad's hands were rubbing Pop's arms. Jack stood quietly, watching them, and couldn't keep the smile off his face.

When he noticed Jack, Dad flinched and pulled away from Pop slightly, eliciting a small murmur of protest.

"Relax, Dad. It's all right." Jack stepped forward and sat in the chair across from Dad. "I'm assuming this means you guys got busy last night."

"Jack!" Pop crossed to the coffeemaker and started pouring Jack a cup.

"It's no big deal. I know you have to have had sex at some point. I mean, at least once, right? Because otherwise, how would I have been conceived?"

Pop and Dad exchanged a look as Pop handed Jack his coffee and then went to the stove. Jack checked: bacon and eggs, but no pancakes. Bummer.

"No wonder you failed that sexuality class," Dad remarked as he took a sip of coffee.

"B minus is not a failing grade. And that class really didn't talk about actual sex much, anyway." Jack added a teaspoon of sugar to his coffee and stirred thoughtfully. "Now Anatomy, that was much more informative."

Pop's look of surprise was funny. "It was an Intro to Anatomy class. You probably learned more about sex organs from the books we gave you in elementary school. What are you talking about?"

"I don't mean the formal curriculum, Pop." Jack looked at Dad slyly. "It was more of the hands-on practicum."

"Ah," said Dad. Pop still looked confused.

Jack continued wistfully, "Amber O'Neill. She made a great T.A. And yes, Dad, she had great T and A, too."

"Our little Jacky went out and got himself some. I'm so proud." He reached across the table and chucked Jack under the chin.

"Who is this girl?" Pop asked over his shoulder. "Are we going to meet her?" The bacon was starting to smell great.

"I don't think so, Pop. It was fun, but it wasn't really a boyfriend/girlfriend thing. In fact, I think she's planning on hooking back up with her high school boyfriend this summer."

Dad was still smiling smugly. "Jacky, my boy, I'm _verklempt_. Give your old Dad a hug." Jack rolled his eyes, but got up and hugged Dad anyway.

"What say we go out and get ourselves some hookers this week?" Dad continued. "I know some twins who have a thing for father-son action."

Pop put down Dad's plate more forcefully than necessary. "That would be a no."

"You can come, too."

"We have a week. We're going to enjoy it together as a family, doing activities that do not involve… bordellos."

Dad reached out, grabbed Pop around the waist, and swung him down to sit on Dad's good leg. "You're so old-fashioned." Dad dug his face into Pop's chest.

Pop sneaked his arms around him. "Yes, I've often been told that."

It was time for Jack to go. He grabbed two slices of bacon and his coffee mug. "Well. I'm going to take a shower. I'll see you two, um, later."


	4. Chapter 4

They went to a movie matinee that afternoon. In line for snacks, Pop and Dad argued over who would get to sit next to Jack. The argument, though totally without acrimony, was rip-roaring, so Jack stayed out of it completely.

As they settled in their seats – Dad had won the argument with "You get the August trip to Europe with him; surely I can claim one lousy movie." – Jack wondered how they'd missed the obvious: that he had a left and a right side and therefore both could sit next to him. He got his answer just after the lights went down, when Dad and Pop threaded their fingers together.

The action-comedy Jack had picked was excellent entertainment but terrible art, and as such provided fodder for lively debates throughout the rest of the evening. Several times, Jack hid a smug smile within a laugh over a comment, pleased with how well his plan had worked.

Monday morning was lazy, but they spent the afternoon in Manhattan sightseeing. Funny, they lived relatively close to the city, but Jack had hardly spent any time there.

They went to a new restaurant on the edge of Greenwich Village for dinner on a recommendation from one of Pop's friends. As they got to the door, Jack noticed a guy he knew from Michigan standing nearby.

"Josh, is that you?"

"Hey, Jack, what are you doing here?" Josh grabbed his shoulder, and it made him flinch a little. Josh was a second string cornerback at Michigan, 6'2" and 190 pounds of solid muscle.

"We just came in for some touristy stuff and dinner. Let me introduce you. Dad, Pop, this is Josh Venegas; he goes to Michigan. Josh, this is my father, Greg House, and my other father, James Wilson. They're doctors over in Princeton."

"Dr. House, Dr. Wilson, nice to meet you." Josh smiled, and they all shook hands.

Josh turned back to Jack, shaking his head slightly. "This is a surprise, Jack. You have two dads; you're not shittin' me?" Dad tensed up and Pop cast him a worried glance.

"Oh," Josh said in an aside to Dad and Pop, "sorry about my language there."

Jack laughed. "Yeah, two dads."

"Sorry, I was just surprised. No offense, Dr. Wilson and Dr. House, but when I first met Jack I thought he came from an abusive household. Because the only person I've ever known who talked less about his family was this abused kid I was trying to mentor." Josh shook his head. "But Jack, from the little you actually said, it sounded like your father had multiple personality disorder or something. Two dads, that makes a hell of a lot more sense."

Jack laughed again, and this time Dad and Pop chuckled too.

"Josh, are you waiting for someone?"

"Yeah, my cousin. She just called and said she's going to be another hour. Draaaag." It was an inside joke, too complicated to explain, but Jack and Josh got a chuckle out of it.

Smiling, Pop offered, "Josh, since you have to wait, why don't you have dinner with us?"

"That'd be nice. Are you sure I wouldn't be imposing?"

"Not at all."

Dad had taken a seat on a bench. Pop looked over at him.

"House, you look comfortable where you are. Why don't Jack and I go in and check whether there's a wait?"

Dad waved them in, and Josh moved closer and bent to ask Dad something.

Pop threw his arm around Jack and hugged him on the way in the door. "You are such a sight for sore eyes," Pop breathed in his ear, making him laugh.

They approached the hostess, arms still around each other. She thought a table for four could be ready in a few minutes, but stepped away to check.

Pop's eyes were shining, and Jack was getting a little embarrassed by the love pouring off him. "I really missed you when you were away."

Smiling, Jack rubbed Pop's arm. "I wasn't gone that long." He hugged Pop again and noticed over Pop's shoulder that Dad was coming in the door, followed by Josh. They were blocked by a cluster of people in the entry, and for once, Dad seemed okay with letting others go first. Jack laughed and eased out of the hug, although he kept his arm around Pop's shoulder.

Jack was looking for the hostess again when he overheard a weaselly-sounding man behind them. "Can you believe this neighborhood? Old queens with boys who get younger every day. It's a disgrace."

Pop was oblivious, but Jack noticed Dad had heard. Dad strode over to the weasel man and replied, "I happen to know them. They're father and son. I'm an old queen, though; want to make something of it?" Dad's tone was bland, but his eyes were flashing. He was holding his cane slightly off the ground, in a position that wasn't overtly threatening but was prepared for action.

"I, um –" was as far as the man got before Josh stepped up and slipped his right arm around Dad's waist.

"Honey, don't be starting something right before dinner," Josh said and smiled at the weasel man. He then slowly stretched his left arm across to pat Dad's chest once lightly, giving him a half hug. The weasel man stared at the flexing of Josh's bicep and tricep, which was undoubtedly the reaction Josh intended to provoke.

"You'll forgive us if we go now, won't you?" he purred to the weasel man, who nodded his head so fast he looked almost like a bobble-head doll.

Josh led Dad over to where Pop and Jack stood, keeping his arm lightly around Dad's waist. Jack tried hard not to laugh and ruin the effect for weasel man.

"Is he still looking?" Josh asked quietly.

"Yep," Jack replied.

Josh turned to Dad with a sly smile. "If I kiss you, will you pay for my dinner?"

Dad scoffed. "For someone who's dating me, you sure don't know me very well."

Pop leaned in a bit. "If you kiss him," he said in an undertone, "I'll pay for your dinner."

"That's definitely more typical –" Dad began, but any further words were cut off by the press of Josh's lips against his. The kiss lasted just a few seconds, and then Josh put his head on Dad's shoulder.

"Did he see?"

"I think so," Jack replied. "In any case, he's leaving."

"Good," said Josh and stood up straight. He kept his hand on Dad's back, however, until the hostess finally led them to their table.

"I hate crap like that," Josh commented, once they were settled at the table.

"The kissing?" Dad replied. "I found it rather pleasant. Not as much tongue as I usually prefer."

Pop smirked and nudged Dad in the side.

"No," Josh continued, as he opened his menu, "the stupid crap people say. Everybody thinks they gotta comment on everyone else's life. My family and I get it a lot for being Puerto Rican. 'Go back to your own country,' and that kind of nonsense. My sister carried around fact sheets from the Puerto Rico Tourism Authority for a while, just to try to educate people. Never seemed to work. Eh, screw 'em."

He looked over his menu at Pop. "Are you really buying me dinner? I eat kind of a lot."

Pop smiled. "Yes, I'm really buying, for you and Jack."

"And me too, right?" Dad looked over at Pop, although he didn't look too concerned.

"After all these years? That goes without saying."

It was a great dinner. The food was nothing special – Pop had made better – but the company was superb. Josh, true to his word, ate more than the three others put together, and ended up taking care of the tip as his way of saying thanks.

Dad hugged Josh goodbye after dinner, which earned him raised eyebrows from both Pop and Jack.

"What? The man's kissed me; the least I can do is let him cop a feel of my ass before he goes."

Josh shook his head and clapped Jack on the back. "Jack, buddy, I understand you a lot better now than I used to. You should think about pledging my frat in the fall."

"A jock fraternity?" A cab pulled up, and Pop and Dad began to get in.

"Hey, we need someone to get the GPA up. Seriously, the guys'd like you. Think about it."

Josh shut the cab door behind Jack and waved as they left. The last thing Jack saw was a teenage girl jumping into Josh's arms.

 

By Friday night, Jack had run through all the current college news and was in the mood for some nostalgia. The three of them were back in the family room, Pop and Dad on the couch, Jack in the recliner.

"Tell me a story from when I was little," he said.

"What about the night you were born?" Pop replied with a smile.

"I've heard that a million times. A different story."

Pop thought for a second. "There was the Diaper Rash Debacle when you were one."

Dad winced. "You'd think two doctors could have handled that one a little better, but hey, we're not pediatricians."

"Speaking of which, your pediatrician said it was the worst she'd ever seen in twenty years of practice. Nasty. You screamed for almost a week straight, and then you developed a diaper phobia."

"I had to pin you with my cane just to get the damn thing on you sometimes."

Pop and Dad were starting to almost overlap sentences at this point. "We had to switch to cloth, and boy, that was not nice."

"Marjorie threatened to quit three times before you finally got over the phobia and went back to disposables."

Jack shuddered. "That sounds gross. Did you ever find out what caused it?"

Dad's look was smug. "I am an excellent diagnostician; of course I figured it out."

Pop's look was exasperated. "Someone was feeding you chocolate on the sly, even though we had agreed not to let you have caffeine until you were older."

It was hard to imagine a wistful expression on Dad's face, but this one came close. "You were so happy when you ate chocolate, Jack. You can't even imagine how happy you were."

"But I'm allergic to chocolate," Jack noted.

"One of the very, very few who truly are; otherwise, we would have realized it sooner," Dad replied cheerfully.

Pop shook his head. "That whole period was torture. But there was one silver lining to that cloud."

Dad leaned forward and smirked. "We got a great story to tell all your future girlfriends. Or boyfriends, whichever."

Jack was aghast. "What?"

The shared smile between Pop and Dad did not reassure him. Pop replied, "All parents need an embarrassing story to tell to their children's prospective mates. We were lucky that we got yours so early."

"Please tell me you didn't tell Kim, at least."

Dad thought for a second. "The girl you took to the prom? We told her."

"No!" Jack flopped back in his chair and threw up his hands. "Oh, God, that's why she kept looking at my butt. Oh, God. Don't tell anyone else that story, OK?"

Dad nodded. "Yeah, we'll keep it to ourselves. Just don't date anyone ever, and no one will ever hear it."

Shuddering, Jack replied, "Let's change the subject. Speaking of dating, tell me about your first date."

A flush rose quickly on Pop's face. "Um, we never really had a date, _per se_."

Dad nodded again and squeezed Pop's shoulders. "In fact, the week we started having sex, we didn't actually leave my place too much."

"Never mind," said Jack. "I don't want to know."

"We went out to that one restaurant, but Wilson didn't actually eat there. Well, eat any food…"

Now it was Jack's face that had the flush. "Dad! Not interested. Hey, here's another question. If it involves sex though, lie and tell me a fake answer, OK? Pop, when was the first time Dad told you he loved you?"

Dad pulled back a bit and regarded Pop. "You probably have to think about that one, huh, Wilson?"

"Nope. I remember it clearly. It was the night Jack was born."

That startled Dad. "That can't be right."

Pop nodded and began to draw patterns on Dad's knee with his finger. "It is. You said it kidding around before then, but that was the first time you said it seriously to me."

"No, I know I said it before then. What about when I got shot?"

"Nope."

Dad had to think. "OK, yeah, that's right. The first time we kissed?"

Pop laughed, seemingly at the memory of that time. "No."

"Yeah, that wasn't what I said at all, was it? OK, how about – um, give me a minute. During that picnic in the park?"

That was intriguing to Jack. "You guys had a picnic in the park once? How romantic."

Pop glanced at Dad before replying. "Other people were actually having the picnic. We were just nearby, um, doing something else. But no, House, you didn't say it then, either."

Clapping his hands once, Dad responded, "I've got it! When you brought home that thing. You know the one, from that store."

"Uh uh. You told the, er, thing that you loved it. That was all."

"When we picked the surrogate."

"Nope."

"When we heard about the positive pregnancy test."

Pop shook his head. "You refused to say anything for three days so as not to 'jinx things.'"

"That doesn't sound like me." Pop raised one eyebrow, and Dad had to concede. _"_But it was me, so…" He thought again. "When we went to the ultrasound."

"Nope, you told the surrogate you loved her. So did I." Pop turned to Jack and leaned forward to pet his hands just once. "She was so great. Your mother gave us such a gift, Jack. There's no way we could ever repay her."

Dad was still looking a bit puzzled. "I really didn't tell you until Jack was born? I'm kind of an asshole, aren't I?"

"You got the point across in other ways." Pop leaned against Dad and kissed him gently.

It would have been cruel to wish for a plane crash, so Jack wished instead that Elaine would run away with a Mexican _telenovela_ star. It didn't happen.

***

Every day of that summer, Jack expected to hear that Elaine was moving out and Dad was moving back in. Every day of that summer, he was disappointed.

At a loss to explain what was happening, or rather, not happening, he almost refused to take the trip to Europe in August. But Pop was so happy about it, so proud that they'd have this adventure together, that he kept his mouth shut, got his passport, and packed his clothes. He made one last pitch to Pop to invite Dad along, which was gently shot down, and then they were on the plane, flying to London, Elaine's hand tucked into Pop's.

Two days in London, two days around Stratford-upon-Avon, then through the Channel Tunnel (Elaine's choice) to Paris. The Louvre and the Musée d'Orsay were both packed, but worth braving the crowds. The Eiffel Tower was disappointing to Jack, but Elaine found it enchanting, and her delight made Pop laugh joyfully. Jack looked away.

The view from the top of the South tower of Notre Dame was breathtaking. When he'd made it up the stairs, he'd first seen a guy about his own age, tall, with frosted hair, who'd smiled slightly and nodded at him. Jack went and stood by him – it was the best spot for the view – and took in the panorama.

He'd spotted the Arc de Triomphe and their hotel when he heard, down on the walkway, Elaine teasing Pop. Pop was smiling down at her and playfully kissing her ear.

The guy next to Jack noticed them as well. "Paris, City of Love," he said, clearly amused.

"Fucking breeders," Jack replied quietly. "I hate 'em." He stomped down the stairs and took refuge in the book shop.

***

It was stupid of him to play Trivial Pursuit with Dad. Geography, History, Science and Nature: he had to cede those before the first die was even thrown. The only saving grace was Dad's terrible recall of names, particularly in the Entertainment category.

"C'mon, you have to give me this one," Dad was saying.

"Nope," Jack replied, holding the card close to his chest. "You have to say the name of the actor."

"I can tell you just about every movie he's been in. He was even in that one we all saw together back in May." Dad brought his hand to his eyes as if that would help him think. "Crap, what was his name? Wilson would know; he was practically drooling over him."

Jack's heart dropped. He slapped the card on the table. "Peter Levitt."

"That's it!" Dad threw his hands up. "But you didn't give me enough time. I would've come up with it."

"No, you wouldn't have." Jack leaned forward and caught Dad's eye. "And Pop wasn't drooling over him; he was drooling over you."

"Jack," Dad said warningly, and dropped back in his chair.

He might at one time have given up, but he'd held onto the hope too long, the hope and the conviction that this was right, goddamn it. He wasn't a deluded child of divorce, scheming to jam two incompatible people together for his sake. Pop and Dad fit, two halves of a whole, two songbirds mating for life, whatever cliché you could pull from the shelf. They belonged together, and no matter how much they'd tried, they didn't work apart.

"Why haven't you gone back to Pop? You know he'd get a divorce."

Dad stared at him a long minute, and Jack took it, refusing to look away. Dad finally dropped his eyes to the table and began fidgeting with the game pieces, rolling them along his fingers.

"Elaine has been a great comfort to Wilson. She deserves to have him there to take care of her when she gets sick."

"She's only 50 years old. She's not likely to get a chronic disease for several years, if ever. You're going to let Pop go, just on the off chance that –" Jack stopped and thought. "Wait a minute. You're talking about something specific, aren't you?"

"Yes." Dad was still not looking up. Jack refused to let the clacking of the game pieces as they knocked into each other be distracting.

"What is it?" he pressed.

"Within three months, Elaine will be diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer's. That'll be wrong, I think. It's most likely Lewy body dementia." Dad's delivery was almost matter-of-fact, but Jack caught the disappointment behind it.

"You know for sure?"

Dad finally looked at Jack. "The tests will determine it conclusively, but yes, I'm sure."

"Why haven't you told her? Or Pop?"

Dad looked down again and placed his palms flat on the table before replying, "Even with all the advancements we've had in medicine over the past years, even with all we now know about the brain, there's still nothing they can do to halt this. To tell Elaine or Wilson now would just cause them a lot of worry when there's nothing to be done. The crucial thing is to make sure you have help lined up for when it gets bad, and Wilson will figure out what she's got way before then."

Jack closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was a disaster for Elaine. He didn't know Lewy body specifically, but from what he did know, early onset dementias tended to hit harder, faster.

"But you don't think Pop knows yet?"

"He'd ask me about it if he suspected anything."

Jack let out a breath in relief. "Well, that's good. You can take him away now, before he knows, and then he won't feel like he has to stay with her. Elaine has a big family; they'll take care of her when she's sick."

Astonishment played across Dad's face. "Jack, I'm surprised at you. That's devious and uncaring. Wasn't it Wilson who raised you? You're not making a good argument for nurture over nature."

"Dad." He felt inured to Elaine, numb. She'd be fine; she didn't matter.

"In any case, I'm not heartless. Your mother has been good to you and Wilson. Don't you think she deserves the 'in sickness' part of the wedding vows?"

Jack pushed out of his chair, the numbness giving way to anger. "She's not my mother. She's a step. I only have two parents, and I want them to be together. I want them to be happy. You're condemning Pop to years of misery and yourself to more years alone. It's stupid. You and Pop don't care about the 'forsaking all others' vow, so why should the 'in sickness' vow be any different?"

"You've gone off the deep end. Are you not feeling well?" Dad walked over and put his hand on Jack's forehead. "Do you have a fever?"

"I'm fine." Jerking away from Dad, Jack went out to the living room and threw himself in a chair. Dad followed a few steps behind. "I'm just tired of you finding excuses to be miserable."

"This is not an excuse. And I'm not miserable. I have you; you're a constant source of amusement. And work's been very interesting lately. There was this one case –"

"Not interested. And I'm not talking about you feeling challenged, or amused, or even satisfied. I want you to be happy."

Dad sat in the other chair and clasped his hands together. "I'm not sure I've ever been happy. I take that back; when you were young there was a lot of happiness there. But I've always had high expectations for the world, and except for you, it mostly disappoints me."

"What about Pop? Does he disappoint you?"

"There have been times. I have high expectations for him, too." Dad's lips curled up in amusement. "But he's got a pretty good track record, as people-who-are-not-my-son go."

"So why won't you get back together with him?"

Another silent, intense gaze from Dad. Jack held his eyes there, but barely; he was so tired. Dad finally said, "In your entire life, Jack, have I ever played the 'I'm the father, so end of discussion' card with you?"

"No."

"Well, I'm going to now. I'm the father, so end of discussion." He nodded and got up from the chair. "Do you want a beer?"

"I'm not old enough," Jack replied sulkily.

"C'mon, you've got to think farther ahead if you want your devious schemes to work. You should be getting me drunk and pliable to see if I'll cave."

"You're back on Vicodin; you shouldn't be drinking alcohol." Jack was in no way ready to stop being sullen.

"You are your father's son. As such, come on in the kitchen. You can make dinner while I _kibitz_." He started walking away.

"Dad, I'm not letting it go."

Dad turned back and nodded. "Spoken like a true House. Let it go for tonight or I'm starting in on the Scotch."

"You're a bastard," Jack replied while getting up out of the chair.

"Actually, I guess technically you are, seeing as how same-sex marriage wasn't legal in New Jersey when you were born."

"Do you always have to have the last word?"

"Yes."

***

They called Jack in early November to tell him about Elaine's diagnosis.

Thanksgiving at home was strained and stressful, with an overabundance of false cheer. The only time Elaine's brave smile faltered was around Dad. That he had been the one to diagnose her (Pop had insisted) seemed to be adding the final insult to her injury. Jack was glad to get back to college, although he worried about leaving Pop behind.

The Lewy body dementia, as it typically did according to Dad, took a progressive but vacillating course. There were stretches of time in which everything seemed almost normal, followed by quick downturns in her condition. Her short-term memory was the first thing to go. Several times, she called Jack, bright and cheery, and then complained to Pop bitterly a few hours later that Jack never talked to her any more.

The winter break was difficult as well. Elaine was in turns forgetful, moody, and vacant. Jack hid out at Dad's place a lot and then felt guilty for not being around more. Spring break he did a volunteer trip to Costa Rica, and over the summer he stayed put in Michigan, claiming work and class obligations. He spent as much time as he could on the phone with Pop, talking about whatever Pop wanted, but he was unable to physically be around Elaine. He was gripped by an unshakable superstition that she was cursed, and he felt enormously guilty for having brought it on her.

Dad, of all people, talked Jack into getting counseling.

He came to think of the small, skinny room where the sessions were held as "the stall," meaning toilet stall. He would come in, sit down, hang his head over the figurative porcelain god, and proceed to vomit out his insides for 49 minutes. He always felt a compulsion to brush his teeth and wash his face afterwards, but he did feel better.

After about six months, when he was down to dry heaves, he quit abruptly and never looked back.

Pop held out as long as he could with keeping Elaine at home, but after the third time she almost burned down the house due to her inattention, he finally agreed to put her in a nursing home. He chose a small one, specializing in dementia and Alzheimer's, on a very pretty piece of land.

After his third year at Michigan, Jack went back to New Jersey for the summer. One pleasant day in June, he finally summoned up the strength to go see her. Pop had a patient emergency, so he asked Dad to go with him.

As they walked toward her room, Dad stopped at the nurses' station but waved Jack on.

"Jack!" Elaine cried happily as he entered her room. "It's nice to see you. You've been so busy; I'm glad you could come by." It seemed he'd come on a good day.

"Hi, Elaine."

He'd been worried that he'd feel too awkward, but a smile came easily to him. He gave her a hug and she leaned into it, patting his back.

"Sit, sit." She was sitting up in her bed, and she offered him the chair next to it. He brought it around so he could face her. She immediately started chattering happily, telling him about the home, the nurses, and the other residents.

Suddenly, her face fell, her eyes grew wide, and she stopped mid-sentence. Jack turned to see where she was looking and found Dad was in the doorway.

Elaine's shriek was startling. "You! Get out!"

Dad ducked his head.

"You're the whore that keeps trying to sleep with my husband! Get out!" Jack glanced at Elaine; her face was red and there were tears in her eyes.

"I'll be in the lobby when you're ready, Jack," Dad said quietly as he left.

Elaine took a deep breath to calm herself, blinked twice, and turned back to Jack. "What was I saying before that interruption? Oh, yes, the rabbi that comes by is such a nice man…"

Jack nodded and smiled, but his attention was distracted by a nurse coming in the door carrying a syringe. Before she got two steps in, Dad's arm reached in, caught her, and pulled her back out of the room. Elaine didn't seem to notice and kept talking. Jack tried to focus on her, but found himself eavesdropping on Dad's conversation with the nurse.

"What are you going to give her?" Dad asked.

"It's medicine to calm her down. Paranoid, persecutory delusions are common with her type of dementia." The nurse was practical, efficient.

"Yes, I know, I'm a doctor. But she's not having a paranoid episode; you don't need to give her anything."

"You were there. She screamed at you," the nurse replied skeptically.

"And rightly so. I am the whore that keeps trying to sleep with her husband. She's fine. Let her be."

Jack stayed for an hour, and hugged Elaine when he left. She cried gently and patted his arm. "You're a good boy, Jack. I would have liked to have been your mother."


	5. Chapter 5

At winter break, it had been just over two years since Elaine had been diagnosed. Pop was still running the oncology department, seeing patients, and spending every spare minute at the nursing home with Elaine. The strain was taking a definite toll: he looked at least fifteen years older than he should have at 61.

Dad had talked about it several times over the phone, but actually seeing Pop gave Jack a very real shock.

"We're going to do something about it," Dad told him. "Tonight. Just back me up." Jack nodded.

Elaine's sister and her husband were in town to see her, so they managed to convince Pop to have dinner with them at Dad's. Jack roasted a chicken, and Dad cooked vegetables. Pop sat on the couch and stared at the TV, but it was obvious that he wasn't hearing a word.

Over dinner, Pop murmured nice things about the chicken, which was dry, and the vegetables, which were practically inedible. It was hard to tell if it was politeness or weary inattention.

Finally Dad pushed his plate away and took Pop's hand in his. "You're running yourself ragged," he began without preamble. "You need to significantly cut back your hours at work."

Pop shrugged tiredly. "I can't. We need the money."

Squeezing Pop's hand, Dad asked simply, "For what?"

"Jack's tuition, for one."

"I already paid for the year. Sent the check yesterday." That was news to Jack, but he kept quiet.

Pop looked at the table. "What about room and board?"

"That's taken care of, too. I just bought a condo in Ann Arbor for him to live in." More interesting news. Jack approved. "It's in a great location, right near the campus. I am gonna make a mint when he moves out." Dad's thumb was rubbing lazy circles on Pop's hand.

"How could you afford that?"

"What did you think I was doing with all that money I saved by making you buy me things over the years? I invested. It's now worth… a lot, let's just say. Jack's set; I'm set; you're set. You don't have to worry about money." Dad was trying to catch Pop's eye, but it seemed too much of an effort for Pop to lift his head. Jack reached over and held Pop's other hand.

"No matter how much is there," Pop replied, "it'd probably be impossible to cover Elaine's care without the insurance."

Dad had the answer for that, too. "Cuddy talked to the Board. You work one day a week, they'll cover the health insurance and long term care insurance. I tried to get you covered under mine as a domestic partner, but they said I have to be living with you, and, get this, I can't register both you and Elaine. Pigs. What do they have against polygamy?"

Pop's head hung lower. "I – I can't believe you're doing all this."

"Oh, c'mon, don't get weepy on us." Dad tugged at Pop's hand. "Guh. Are you sure Elaine's not the husband?"

When Pop raised his head, there were a few tears in his eyes, but he was blinking them back. "Please shut up."

***

Time passed and patterns held. Elaine had good stretches of coherence and very bad stretches of hallucinations, delusions, and stupor. She frequently accused the staff of poisoning her, but they were accustomed to such claims and paid them no mind. On occasion, she would angrily accuse Pop of neglecting her or weepingly accuse him of cheating on her. He was able to hold her hand and smile because neither allegation was currently true.

Dad spent more time at the hospital than he ever had, it being a bad year for people who wanted to avoid strange ailments. His diagnostic success rate was 98 percent, and he berated himself and his staff for the missing 2 percent. That meant turnover and more headaches for Don Ebermeyer, the new Dean of Medicine.

Aunt Lisa still chaired the Board, but she had left administration behind for a very fulfilling and lucrative career in writing and lecturing. Jack enjoyed her pieces on medical ethics, and was always amused at how many of her examples he could see Dad's handiwork in.

Jack went to classes, studied, spent time with friends, squeezed out visits home when possible, and wrote. His first published piece had been an essay on health care, and he strongly suspected Aunt Lisa and Dad of pulling strings behind the scenes for that. His second published piece was a short story in a literary journal he was certain no one read, until Dad sent him a copy covered with red notations. He was pleased to see his own piece received fewer corrections than the rest.

Deep in a desk drawer, he had three chapters, five character sketches, and a plot outline for a novel called _Cauliflower Tail_. Pop had read what he had so far, but he planned to let it get a little further before sharing it with Dad.

***

In a final act of kindness, Elaine died when Jack was already in New Jersey. It was the "spring" break they had in early March, in Jack's fifth year at Michigan. She died on Thursday and was buried on Saturday, and Jack's flight back to Ann Arbor was on Sunday.

He had asked Pop if he should stay for _shiva_, the traditional seven-day mourning period for family members of the deceased. Pop shook his head. "No, go back to school."

"But Elaine's family will expect –"

"I'll handle them. You've done all a friend needs to do." He smiled gently, cupped Jack's cheek briefly, and went back to sit silently with Elaine's mother and father.

Things were atrociously busy his first week back to school, and he didn't get a chance to call home until Friday evening. He tried Dad first.

"Hi, Dad. Haven't heard from Pop this week."

"Yep, they're still sitting. Mirrors covered, clothes rent, no smiling – all the proper things for a God who's not watching anyway. But Wilson's always liked doing the right thing, and I suppose it does make Elaine's parents feel better."

"You sound distracted, Dad. What are you doing?" Jack played idly with the tail of his shirt.

"Finishing packing. _Shiva_'s over tomorrow, the Kaminskys will leave, and I'm going home."

"You're –" Jack lost his breath for a brief second. "You're moving back in with Pop?"

"Yep."

"Not that I don't think that's the most brilliant idea you've ever had, but do you think maybe it's too soon?"

"Too soon for what? Wilson's done his duty, and I've done mine. And emotionally, he's been grieving Elaine for three years. I should think that would be enough for anyone."

A wild bird beat its wings in Jack's chest, and he had to close his eyes for a minute. "Well, that's… excellent," he said lamely. "Give Pop a kiss for me when you get there."

"No."

"What?"

"The kind of kisses you would give your father are not the kind I'll be giving Wilson."

"Dad."

"We'll call you tomorrow. Or the next day. Or the day after that."

"I get it. I love you, Dad."

"Love you. Bye."

He tried not to be miffed that it took them four days to call him. Then he tried not to be amused at the lazy drawl Pop could not seem to shake and the smug satisfaction that rang in every word Dad said.

Two weeks later, he called on a Sunday night just to say hello, and got some very interesting news from Pop.

"So we decided we're going to come out at the hospital. It'll be tomorrow."

"Now? After all this time? You don't have to."

"I know. Your father wants to. He says it's either that or he's outing me in the _Journal of Clinical Oncology_."

"Of course, I'd do that anyway if the stupid journal sold ad space."

"House, what are you doing on the extension?"

"Ad space is a good money-making idea. Why haven't you ever thought of it, Dr. Editor-in-Chief?"

"Because it's not actually a good idea. Get off the phone, House, and finish making me dinner."

Click.

"Dad's actually making you dinner?"

"He's transferring the food from the takeout cartons to real plates. He's also supposed to be opening wine for me, but he LOST the CORKSCREW."

Jack rolled his eyes and faintly heard "Yeah, yeah, yeah" in the background.

"So, how are you going to come out? Announcement over the PA? Joint memo on the Clinic bulletin board?"

"We're actually doing things separately. I've got everything ready on my end, but I have no idea what House has planned. He doesn't know what I'm doing, either. Says we need an air of mystery to keep things lively. I don't know; everything seems pretty lively to me."

Pop gave a small gasp, and the background noise grew louder, as if the phone had come away from Pop's ear.

Jack heard Dad's voice carrying across a distance of a foot or two. "Bye, Jack. Pop has to go; Daddy's hungry and wants to eat." There was a thump, as if the receiver had dropped to the carpet. Jack hastily hung up his phone and decided to pretend Dad was talking about the take-out.

Jack had long been accustomed to seeing "Your Father Is Insane" as the subject line of emails from Aunt Lisa. The twist of "Both Your Fathers Are Insane," however, was remarkable enough to catch his eye the next afternoon.

"I would have known that something was up," the email read, "if Ebermeyer had told me that House agreed to give a lecture on diagnostics for all new residents. But I still would not have expected the _folie a deux_ that greeted the hospital today.

"Exhibit 1 from this morning's Board Meeting."

What followed seemed to Jack, at first, to be a normal picture of Pop, smiling and seated at a conference table. The he adjusted his computer screen slightly, and the message on Pop's tie came into sharp relief: "TAKEN," stitched into the fabric in letters two inches high.

"Exhibit 2, exiting the meeting."

The back of Pop's lab coat was no longer an expanse of white. It was covered with a cartoon image of a ball and chain, with "Greg House" emblazoned on the ball in neon green.

"Exhibit 3, in the lecture hall."

The photographer had caught Dad mid-rant: mouth open wide, right arm leaning heavily on his cane, and left arm flung up in the air. It allowed for a perfect view of his shirt, which had an enormous pink heart and the words "MY HEART BELONGS TO JIMMY."

"Exhibit 4. It's House, but don't ask me who took this picture."

The last picture was a bit fuzzier than the rest, but Jack could see that it was the back of a pair of jeans. The patch on the left cheek read "Property of" and the patch on the right cheek read "James Wilson."

Five minutes later, when his laughs had turned to hiccups, he relabeled the email "Insanity: Nurture or Nature?" and forwarded it to Teddy, Josh, and Mary.

***

It was 7:48 a.m. on a Wednesday when Jack's phone rang. He was confused and a bit perturbed as he looked at the clock. Who the hell was calling this early? He was only up at that time because – oh, it was Pop.

"Hi, Pop. What's up?"

"Jack, hi. You know, when I was young, nobody had caller ID. You had to ask to find out who was calling."

Jack rolled his eyes. "Yeah, and you walked seven miles to school uphill both ways. Do you call everyone you know this early to meander through the past, or just me?"

Pop's reply sounded something like "Hmp." Then there was a pause that went on long enough to make Jack slightly nervous.

"Pop? You there?"

"Sorry. You sounded so much like your father then; it surprised me."

Jack cradled the phone with his shoulder as he pulled the ground coffee from the freezer and the cold water from the fridge. "Where is Dad?"

"Still in bed. Listen," Pop replied, "I called to wish you all the best on your exam today."

"Thanks." He measured the coffee out for the coffeemaker, exactly the way Pop had taught him. Dad went by eye, but Jack couldn't stand it when his coffee was too weak or too strong.

"So this is your last exam ever, isn't it? That's exciting."

"It's pretty cool. Then just one year of clinical rotations, and I'll finally be out in the real world making some actual money."

"We're so proud of you. What time's your exam?"

"Nine o'clock on the dot." Jack drummed his fingers on the counter. This coffeemaker brewed nicely, but it took forever.

"Then what are you doing this afternoon?" Pop continued.

"Lunch with some friends from the class." That brought to mind breakfast, so Jack poked in the refrigerator to see if he had any fruit. He continued, "Then I'm going to Mary's."

"I like Mary." Pop's voice was warm.

"So do I."

Mary was the sweetest woman Jack had ever met, but she had a resilience at her core that was amazing. Funny as hell, too. Jack had to smile.

"Why don't you call me when you're at Mary's? I want to find out how the exam went."

"OK." Hey, apples. Why had he put apples in the fridge? They'd probably be too cold to eat now.

"I have to go and get the door, sweetheart. Good luck again, and call me from Mary's."

The apple was cold, but Jack was hungry. "Yeah, all right. Give Dad a kiss for me."

"Of course. Bye."

"Bye, Pop." Jack wondered for a moment who would be at Pop's door so early, but he was distracted by the wonderful aroma of coffee. Finally! He was going to need the caffeine to get through this exam.

The exam was every bit as much of a bear as he had thought it would be, but after three grueling hours it was finally over. Lunch was a blast – they all felt so incredibly free, and the pitcher of margaritas helped the mood, too.

By the time he got to Mary's, Jack's tension was entirely gone. Mary was in a great mood, too, and they celebrated in a very playful and satisfying manner. Afterwards, he felt boneless, drained, and it was all he could do to drape himself across the couch and watch Mary as she read.

"Weren't you supposed to call your Pop?" she prompted him.

"I don't think I have the energy to go all the way over there and get my phone," he replied languorously. He would have batted his eyelashes, but Mary was already moving.

"You lazy git," she commented with a laugh, as she handed him the phone. "You're making me dinner tonight, you know."

"Of course, darling." He punched in the numbers for Pop's cell. It was 3:30; Pop would probably be done with rounds by now.

Pop answered on the first ring. "Jack?"

"I thought you were anti-caller-ID today."

"No, this morning I was just – thinking about the past." Pop sounded a little wistful. "How was the exam?"

"A three-hour nightmare, but I think I did fine. Good enough to pass, certainly, and employers are all about the degree, not the grades, right?"

Pop ignored him completely, which was a little annoying. "You're at Mary's, right? What's she doing? Is she there with you?"

"Yeah, she's right here. What's with the third degree?"

"That's good; I'm glad she's there."

God, Pop was getting spacey in his old age. He sounded wistful again.

"Was there something else, Pop?"

"Yes, Jack, there is. I'm sorry to say that – No one is ever prepared to hear – Oh, I used to have to say this all the time. Why can't I say it now?"

Shit. Someone had cancer. Who was it? Grandpa House? The guy was 93; it was a miracle he hadn't had it yet.

"Pop, it's OK. Just tell me."

Jack heard a soft sigh and then, "Your Dad died last night."

"What?" He felt instantly cold. The shock must have shown on his face, because Mary was there beside him, her arm around his shoulders.

"He died in his sleep. Heart attack, they think. We went to bed last night, and I woke up, and he… didn't."

"Oh, Pop, you woke up with him dead next to you? That must have been the worst." Mary hugged him, hard, and laid her head on his chest and neck.

"No, Jack. If he hadn't been there, hadn't been with me, that would have been the worst. I had hoped we'd have more time, but he was 72, and the pain, and the medication… The last six weeks have been amazing. I'm so grateful."

"Oh, Pop. Oh, Pop." Jack's brain was stuck, and all he could do was press the phone tighter to his ear. Then a realization struck.

"This morning, when you called, he was already gone."

"Oh, yes, sweetheart. I was waiting for the coroner and decided to wish you luck on your exam."

"Why didn't you tell me then?" The irritation that flared was a nice distraction from the cold that was still permeating his body.

"You needed to take your exam, and I didn't want you to be distracted. Your Dad would have killed me."

That struck Jack as incredibly funny and the urge to laugh temporarily wiped out the irritation and the cold. He kept himself from vocalizing it, though, afraid any laughter might have an hysterical edge to it.

Jack finally realized how Pop was sounding: detached, floating. "Pop, are you OK? You're not alone, are you?"

"No, no. Cuddy's here with me, and the Turners from next door, and a few friends from the hospital. Your Grandma Wilson will be here tonight. Grandpa Wilson's too sick to come, but she'll be here." People around, thank God. Aunt Lisa would take charge and keep Pop grounded.

"Did you call Grandpa House?"

"Cuddy did that." Thank you, Aunt Lisa. "I don't think he'll come to the service. He's… old."

"He's a coot."

Mary was still hugging Jack; he shifted and brought her into his lap so that he could lean into her better.

"Yes, he's a coot, but he did love your father, even if House couldn't see that all the time. He's used to a proper Christian service, though, and this won't be it. I think he'll stay home."

"It's all right."

"Yes, it is. It'd be nice if you called him. Tomorrow, if you don't feel it up to it today."

"I will, Pop."

"Do you think Mary could come with you when you come home? I'll cover the tickets."

Jack gave Mary an extra squeeze. "I think she'll come. But you don't have to pay for it."

"I want to. Please let me. I'm so used to paying for things, and who will I have to buy for now?" Tears were threatening in Pop's voice, and the lump in Jack's throat swelled.

"I'll be on the next flight."

"Oh, no, sweetheart." Pop sighed and pulled himself together a bit. "Stay there tonight and rest. Come tomorrow. There's no rush. We'll have a service, um, Cuddy is thinking this weekend. House wanted his body donated to science, so there's no casket, and really no rush."

"You going to have a marker for him somewhere? A plaque?"

"A wing of the hospital, I was thinking. He really did have a lot of money saved. Oh, if that's all right with you. I guess it's your money now."

"Dad made a will. It's in a safe deposit box, and I have a key. But no matter what the will says, the money is yours, Pop. In a just world, you would have commingled your money a long time ago, because you would have been married to Dad all these years."

"Oh, Jack, I was in my heart." Pop paused and then sighed. "I'm going to go now; I think I might lie down. Let Mary take good care of you, and I'll see you tomorrow. Why don't you call Aunt Lisa when you get your flights settled? She'll have someone come pick you up."

"I love you, Pop."

"I love you so much, Jack. Bye now."

Mary took the phone from him and hung it up. She rubbed his back and murmured soft, comforting words as he cried.

***

He called Aunt Lisa later that afternoon.

"Hi, sweetheart," she said. "I am so sorry for your loss. It's the hospital's loss, too, and my loss as well."

"Thank you. That means a lot." Jack sighed and squeezed Mary's hand.

"Did you find a flight?" Aunt Lisa asked gently.

"Mary and I are taking a flight to Philadelphia that gets in around 11 am."

"Email me the details and I'll have a car pick you up. I'd offer to get you myself, but there's so much I want to do here. Wilson is trying to help, but he's really not up to it right now. He'll be glad when you get here."

"Maybe I should come tonight, then."

"No, you should stay there and try to get some rest. Tomorrow is fine." She paused momentarily. "I would like to ask you something, though. Would you please speak at House's service?"

Jack looked up into Mary' face. She smiled gently and squeezed his hand. "I don't know. It's fine with me, but I don't know if Dad would want me to."

"House, for once, is not going to get the last word. Most of the people who are going to attend the service only knew him professionally. It was a very select few who knew him personally. Everyone knows he was a great mind; I want them to see he was human."

It was so typically Aunt Lisa that he almost laughed. "I see. I'll try to come up with something."

"Thank you, Jack. Send me your flight info so I can send that car."

***

The evening and the flight the next day passed in a blur. The driver Aunt Lisa had arranged took them straight to the hospital to see Dad in the morgue. He was clean-shaven; how strange was that? Jack touched his hair, his cheek, and his hand, and then had to leave.

The next clear thing Jack remembered was sitting next to Grandma Wilson on the couch at home. She was updating both him and Mary on the arrangements that had been made.

"So, when they took Greg's body for science, we'll count that as the burial. Now we'll sit _shiva_ seven days. The memorial service shouldn't be in the middle, but not everyone's Jewish, right? Lisa Cuddy, she is, she should know better, but perhaps it isn't my place to say."

Pop looked up from where he was sitting on the floor. "We're not making Jack sit _shiva_, Mom."

She looked startled, almost offended. "Of course he will sit. It was his father."

Jack slid from the couch to the floor and looked at Pop. "I want to. I want to be with you, Pop."

Pop smiled slightly, and continued, "Mary certainly doesn't need to –"

Mary promptly turned and said, "Mrs. Wilson, I'm sorry to say that I don't know what to do. Can you please show me? And how can I be of help to you?"

"What a good girl," Grandma Wilson cooed, and took Mary's hands in hers. "Modest. A beautiful match for my grandson."

On Saturday evening, they had a hard time convincing Pop to change for the memorial service. When he'd realized Dad was dead, Pop had followed an old custom and torn what he was wearing. It happened to be a pajama top, one of Dad's, too big for Pop and a terrible tartan pattern. Pop had worn it ever since.

"Pop, you have to change out of the pajama top," Jack said pleadingly. "People will be staring at you instead of thinking about Dad."

"House won't care. Wouldn't care, if he was there."

"Plus it's starting to smell, Pop. Come on, you can put it back on afterwards."

Pop was blank, unmoving.

Mary came out of the bedroom and offered her finding to Pop. "This is such a lovely tie, Dr. Wilson. Are you sure you wouldn't like to wear this?"

Pop took the tie, stared at it, ran it through his fingers.

Mary continued gently, "But it won't go with what you're wearing. Let's get you a good collared shirt. And a suit jacket; you wouldn't want to be cold."

That was how Pop ended up at the memorial service in the "TAKEN" tie, which got him a few odd glances, but surely fewer than the pajama top would have. It wasn't until Jack was at the podium for his eulogy, looking down at Pop, that the other appropriate meaning of that word struck him. He had to fight back tears or he would never make it through this.

Mary slid over into his seat and took Pop's hand.

Jack swallowed and began.

"Hello. I haven't met most of you, so let me introduce myself. My name is Jack Wilson, and Greg House was my father. Lisa Cuddy wanted me also to tell you that I'm studying to become a pharmacist. She said some of you might find that amusing."

A light murmur of laughter floated amongst the crowd.

"Some of you might not even have known that House had a son. Recent events in the hospital notwithstanding, Dad liked to keep his life private.

"You might think that implies some shame. As a young child, I have to admit I sometimes did wonder about that. But as I grew up, I realized something Dad knew all along: for anything of value, you have to dig harder to find the truth.

"I've come to a new conclusion: that I was more important to my Dad than anything in the world. How do I know that? Because for a very long time, he gave up the second most important thing to him in a misguided but heartfelt attempt to keep me safe." Pop was crying; Mary was rubbing his shoulder.

Jack blinked, swallowed, and continued, "I never wanted him to make that sacrifice; I begged him not to make it, but he did. How could anyone have shown greater love for me than that?"

He took a deep breath and looked at them all: Pop, Mary, Grandma Wilson, Aunt Lisa. Teddy and Leo further back. Dozens of people he'd forgotten or didn't know. What words could ever tell them who Dad was, and what he meant to his son? If they didn't know now, they weren't ever going to.

"I have two beliefs about the afterlife," Jack continued.

"The first is that you get the afterlife you think yourself into. If you believe you're going to hell, you will. If you believe you're going to heaven, you will.

"Dad believed that there was no afterlife, that life on earth was not just a test. So for him this is it; there is no more. It was a life to be proud of, Dad. You accomplished a lot, saved a lot of lives. Other people have recounted your successes today, so I don't need to repeat them. I'll just say you were on an almost quixotic quest for perfection, and at work you almost made it.

"I do have to report that you made some big mistakes, too. You talked yourself out of a lot of happiness. Happiness that was legitimately yours but you refused to take. I'm trying to learn from that, Dad, and gain success in my life in a broader sense."

He stopped, looked down, looked back up across the crowd.

"My second belief about the afterlife is that God has infinite capacity and infinite compassion. He doesn't just make us a clump of angels hanging around the same cloud. We each get our own Heaven, with the places and people we loved best in it.

"So although Dad is gone completely and will never see me again, I'll see him again some day. I have to. He took a large chunk of my heart away with him, and I want it back."

Jack stumbled coming away from the podium, but Pop was there to catch him. They cried together, standing there, and Jack remembered his grandmother's funeral. "You and me have a greater supply, Pop," he whispered, and Pop hugged him tighter.

"Your father was a stupid man," Pop whispered back.

"I know," Jack replied as he straightened up and wiped his face. "We'll clobber him for it in heaven, huh?"

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Better Angel](https://archiveofourown.org/works/185006) by [Nightdog_Barks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightdog_Barks/pseuds/Nightdog_Barks)




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